Disconnected
by unforth
Summary: As Castiel and Dean's relationship progresses, it becomes increasingly challenging to resist the temptation to meet in person. However, the events of Castiel's past make him extremely reluctant to take that kind of chance. Third story of SextersAnon. Warning for discussion of past rape/non-con.
1. Chapter 1

...and were back.

Um...well, I originally planned on two separate stories but as I've been thinking about it I've decided that the events of this story make more sense as one long story, so I'm gonna go for it and write it as one. This is the third story in the 'verse. If you haven't read the first two I doubt it'll make much sense, so go read those first and then come back here.

As I've tagged, there is an instance of extremely dubious consent that takes place in a flashback in this story; given how borderline it is I decided to tag it as non-con rather than skirt that delicate line.

I anticipate this story will be 40,000 or 50,000 words, thereabouts. I've got 10,000 already written. Further, based on current plans I'd say there is one more story in this 'verse.

Also. This story - this whole series - goes some dark places. Last story I had someone contact me and ask for clarification on where I'm going, so they could understand if something I mentioned would be addressed. I have absolutely no issue with answering questions like that; if you have concerns about anything you read in this story or in my previous stories, feel free to get in touch with me - Tumblr is your best bet, my username is unforth-ninawaters.

* * *

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester; Castiel/Naomi (Supernatural); Castiel/Zachariah (Supernatural); Charlie Bradbury/Gilda

Characters: Castiel; Dean Winchester; Charlie Bradbury; Gilda (Supernatural); Naomi (Supernatural); Zachariah (Supernatural); Alfie (Supernatural)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; BDSM; Sub Castiel; Dom Dean; Dom/sub; Top Castiel; Bottom Dean; Switching; Anal Sex; Sex Toys; Flogging; Masochism; Aftercare; Past Rape/Non-con; Flashbacks; Safeword Use; Angst; Shibari; Sadism; Kink Negotiation; Under-negotiated Kink; Subdrop; Gaslighting; Orgasm Delay/Denial; Edgeplay; Emotional/Psychological Abuse; Physical Abuse; So much angst; Castiel Whump; Angst with a Happy Ending; Hurt/Comfort; Angst and Hurt/Comfort; Anxiety

 **This is third story in a three part series.**

 **Story 1: SextersAnondotcom**

 **Story 2: Deactivated**

* * *

Mouth hanging open slackly, Castiel leaned back on his heels, settled his weight on the floor, stretched himself wide, filled himself with the dildo affixed to the floor. Light like fireworks exploded behind his eyes as he tried and failed to focus on Dean's image on his computer monitor.

"Oh God," he groaned. Despite all the scenes they'd done together over the past few months, despite the other times they'd used the toy, Castiel never got used to how _big_ it felt when he first sank down on it.

"That's 36," Dean chided. Castiel bit his lip against a whimper of distress, his hips jerked against the cock within him as anticipation left him desperate and needy.

 _I shouldn't be this excited about…_

… _yes I should. It's okay. Dean says it's okay._

"Whenever you're ready, Cas," Dean said.

Nodding, teeth teasing at the inside of his cheek to spark a trickle of grounding pain, Castiel took up his belt, wrapped his hand around the holed end and draped the buckle over his back. His forehead was beaded with sweat though they had hardly started the scene, his back slick with it, the leather of the belt sticking to his flesh. The buckle was, for the moment, a welcome chill against his skin. It wouldn't feel as good when Castiel began his strokes.

"You sure?" There was a troubled note in Dean's voice, but Castiel shook him off. "Cas, the buckle—"

"Do you want to count off or shall I?" Castiel interrupted harshly.

Dean sighed. "Count each stroke. And make it a round 40 for interrupting me."

"Yes, sir."

"Why are you being punished, Cas?" All sign of doubt and concern vanished from Dean's voice. His eyes were hard, his voice unwavering, his expression stern. What little disquiet Castiel had felt at the prospect of whipping himself faded. He needed to be punished for his misbehavior. He wouldn't let Dean down again. Dean's procrastination had been an itch under his skin. Now that he was ready, now that he was full, every moment of delay was agony.

"Because I referred to _God_ as the source of my pleasure, when in actuality _you_ are the source of my pleasure, sir," Castiel replied, gritting his teeth. Tension had his heart pounding, his breath coming in gasps. Every twitch increased the pressure within him, fired pleasure through his veins that he couldn't handle. "I defied your instructions that I go to sleep early after our last scene. I neglected to heed your instructions that I schedule myself one day off in every seven. I came before you twice."

 _What haven't I done wrong? I deserve so much more than 40 lashes._

"What is your safe word, Cas?" The authority in Dean's voice, quiet and deep, was thrilling.

"Magnolia," he said, "but I won't need it."

He'd taken worse beatings than a mere 40 belt strikes.

Reaching up, Castiel drew his arm down and back sharply. The belt snapped, the leather struck his back stingingly, the buckle jolted directly against his spine, and Castiel stiffened involuntarily, causing the dildo buried within him to rub against his prostate.

"One," he gasped out, fighting down a wave of combined pleasure and pain.

He didn't wait for the reverberating sensations to dissipate before he raised his arm for the second strike. It fell nearly atop where the previous had, with identical results. His cock, hardened by anticipation before the scene began, twitched and dripped thick pre-come down his leg.

"Two."

Castiel didn't try to watch Dean, didn't try to catch his reflection in the mirror, didn't try to do anything but keep striking himself rhythmically, steadily whipping the belt against his increasingly tender flesh. The blows blurred together, the numbers leaving his mouth lost meaning. Each time, his body jerked against the dildo. Each time, the stinging strikes combined with the pleasure until it was all he could do not to come each time the belt hit his skin. Within a few strokes, the pain melted completely into euphoric pleasure. He felt the bite of it, knew it should be agonizing as he worked himself raw, but it wasn't, it was glorious, a trial by fire that burned away everything that was wrong with him and left him purified, floating free within his body, outside his body. If not for the need to count off, he'd have been completely lost, but the requirement that he speak grounded him just enough that he remained sensible. Ten strokes came and went, then twenty, and Castiel thought he could go on forever, each sharp lash a reset button that kept him from thinking of anything save the next number, the next blow, the next exquisite drag of friction in his ass.

"Thirty five…"

Spit and blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, a copper flavor coated his tongue. He must have bitten himself at some point, though he didn't recall doing so. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. His channel screamed for further stimulation, for him to give in to the desire to be fucked senseless since he couldn't fuck. Deliberately, he raised his arm for the next blow, brought it down with the snap-crack of leather on flesh. Pain seared bliss behind his eyes.

"Thirty six!"

The next strike split his skin for the first time, blood joining the flow of sweat down his spine, snaking down his crotch to add to the moisture of the lube in his crack. The burst of agony as his thoughts went completely blank for an instant was amazing, indescribably perfect. He'd missed this feeling so much. "Thirty seven." Everything in his head was endorphins and bliss and the overwhelming need to continue to obey that over-rode every instinct that said he should stop hurting himself, that what he did was wrong. It wasn't wrong, he knew it wasn't, felt so _good_ , he was being punished just as he knew he deserved and it was phenomenal. Another strike – "thirty eight!" – and Castiel's willpower cracked. His hips bucked up and down on the dildo, chasing the pleasure of being filled, of his channel being rubbed against, his prostate stimulated. A sob burst from him uncontrollably.

"Cas!" barked Dean.

"Yes – yes, sir?" Castiel's voice cracked on the simple words, broken by raking breaths that couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs. Every movement, even the smallest twitch of his tortured body, stimulated him further, burst bliss from the wounds on his back, from his ass, from his neglected cock and strained muscles. "Oh G – oh, _Dean_ , sir…!" His body pivoted on the cock again, he couldn't help it, it felt so good – so good – _so good_ – there wasn't room in his hormone-swamped thoughts for anything else. His cock ached, it was so hard, and he was close, so close, to coming.

"Color!"

"…yel…yellow," he cried out.

"In that case, you will finish your punishment," Dean ordered, voice rough.

"I will," agreed Castiel, licking his gummy lips, tasting blood and mucus and thick spit. "What…what number was I on, sir?"

"You've completed thirty eight strikes." There wasn't an ounce of sympathy in his voice, not the least hint of mercy. _Of course not. I cannot be forgiven for my transgressions until I have been adequately punished._

Another strike, another burst of agonized bliss as his skin tore again, and Castiel _screamed_ , "Thirty nine."

"Breathe, Cas," Dean demanded. Castiel tried to obey, he did, but air caught wet in his throat and he coughed. Each hack spasmed his body against the dildo and he nearly broke, sobs bursting out. He felt, _fuck_ , he felt _everything_ and it was nearly unbearable. "You got this," Dean continued more gently. "One more – just one more – I know you can do this."

Castiel latched onto the words like a promise. He didn't think he could do this, every instinct screamed for him to screw himself into oblivion until he finally, _finally_ , came, but Dean believed in him.

He couldn't bear to think of the consequences were he to fail.

"Thirty…" Castiel trailed off. No, that wasn't right. He was supposed to – he had to – with an arm that felt pathetically weak, he lifted the belt again, brought it down again. The snap of it filled the bathroom with noise, the moment before it struck him lasted a lifetime, and then the metal buckle struck his skin, tore into him, pain seared through him, and he wasn't sure he managed to mouth the word " _forty_ " as he collapsed limply back against the cock filling his hole, gasping and crying.

"Open your eyes, Cas." Shaking his head nearly caused Castiel to swoon. He couldn't, he couldn't look, he couldn't feel anything else, he could hardly hold himself upright another moment. His entire body throbbed in time to his racing heart beat and he hovered on an edge. "Please, Cas. I know, okay? You've done amazingly. Whenever I think I know how much you're capable of, you prove to me how much more you can do. You're finished, now, and I need you to open your eyes. I know you can." The coaxing, kind words wormed into Castiel's consciousness and, with effort, he blinked his eyes open. Salt stung them, his lids encrusted and gross, and he couldn't find the strength to lift his arms to wipe the filth away. The screen before him was out of focus; he could just make out blurry patches of pale and dark demarking Dean's head and hair and shoulders. "Okay, that's good, that's great. Stay with me Cas – look at my eyes." Finding eyes amidst the fuzzed out image was more challenging; by the time Castiel managed it his breathing had grown more regular and he felt _slightly_ less like he was on the verge of exploding or vomiting or coming on the spot. "Awesome, Cas"

Stepping away from the camera, Dean leaned back on his bed. He was naked and absolutely fucking gorgeous, lean and powerfully muscled, soft at the belly and thigh, hard at the chest and arms and leaking cock. Scooting around, Dean arranged himself so that his backside was to the camera, kneeling on his bed, ass beautifully presented to Castiel. Castiel's heart began to race again, his thoughts simultaneously howling denial and approval. He suspected what was coming and he wanted it, wanted it so badly he thought he might come from the anticipation, and at the same time he was already wound so tight he didn't think he could handle any more feeling than he was already experiencing. Confirming Castiel's suspicions, Dean produced as from nowhere the long dildo he only used with Castiel, rubbed lube over it and sparked fireworks in Castiel's head as he imagined Dean lubricating his cock. Dean positioned the long length between his cheeks and looked over his shoulder at the camera.

"Don't wait any longer, Cas," Dean instructed. "Whatever you need now – take it." Without awaiting an answer, Dean sank the cock into his hole in one smooth, hard motions. There was no conscious thought involved in connecting Dean's actions to the sensations that instantly nearly drowned Castiel. With a loud gasp, Castiel lifted himself from the cock suctioned to the floor, imagined himself thrusting up to fill Dean's gorgeous body, and then lowered himself back down so hard his teeth jarred and his back spasmed in pain. Dean watched him, eyes boring, and he moved the dildo at precisely the same time as Castiel moved, in precisely the same way. Thrusting at air, Cas moved again, again, imagining that perfect tight heat around him, the smooth slide of it over his over-sensitized cock. Within him, the pressure over his prostate was beyond intense, beyond anything he could remember feeling before.

"Shit, Cas," groaned Dean. Every panting breath burst from Castiel vocally, every movement flared through him so hot he couldn't comprehend why he hadn't come. It was too much, far too much, yet somehow it still wasn't enough. "Shit, you're gorgeous, look at how you fucking _destroyed_ yourself for me, such a good boy, took your punishment so well, feels so—" Dean grunted sharply, eyes rolling back as he filled himself roughly. "Fuckin' hell you feel good inside me – want you – really want you – really – _really_ …" Dean groaned again and went stiff, and Castiel could _feel_ muscles contracting around his cock, feel the sublime increase in pressure around him, and he screamed as pleasure obliterated his sight, obliterated everything, and everything that was Castiel floated away into Nirvana.

"…so beautiful." The words came to Castiel hazily, disjointed, and he had no idea how long had passed, no idea what Dean was talking about. "When I joined that stupid-ass website I had no idea I'd meet someone like you, Cas. I thought I'd find some dilettante asshole and maybe we'd fuck around a bit for shits and giggles. That's all I wanted. That's all I was looking for. Even when I saw those fuckin' pics you posted of yourself I had no idea what a treasure you were." Slowly, the words began to make sense, painting a roadmap that Castiel used to find his way back into his body. As pain and cold crashed around him, he wasn't sure waking up had been a good idea, that his body was a place he particularly wanted to be, but he had to find the strength to pull himself together. Dean was waiting for him. "And now I'm in the fucked position of having to arrange for you to go to another dom so _they_ can see to your back because I can't…we can't…Shit, Cas, I want…fuck, just ignore me." There was something in Dean's voice that didn't belong, something that caused a dull ache in Castiel's heart, distinct from all the other pains that he was growing increasingly aware of as he returned to himself. "I've worked with a lot of subs – as my partners, as my clients, as my models – and I've never seen anyone like you. The things you do to me, the things you do _for_ me, they're fucking spectacular. How can you not realize how fuckin' perfect you are?" There was a long pause. "Shit, can you hear me right now?"

"Hear you," mumbled Castiel. His eyes flickered open; his face was pressed against the blood-smeared tiles of the bathroom floor. His back felt afire from shoulders to ass, his hole was aching and stretched, and his softened cock hurt where it was pressed against cold ceramic.

"Fuck," muttered Dean. "Sorry 'bout all that, I thought…how're you feelin'?"

"Hurts." Something troubled darkened Dean's brow, and Castiel hastened to add, "hurts good, was so good, sir."

"Are you going to be able to get to Charlie's?" Castiel's words did nothing to resolve the troubled look on Dean's face, a false smile failed to obscure the tightness about Dean's eyes or his knit brow. Nerves settled heavy around Castiel's chest.

 _What did I do wrong?_

"Yes," said Castiel, though he was far from certain. Lifting himself up from the bathroom floor felt near-insurmountable; getting dressed, calling a cab, sitting upright with the seat pressing against his back, walking from the cab to Charlie's front door, all sounded impossible.

 _But Dean is unhappy and that's what he needs me to do so I'll do it. Then, maybe, he'll stop looking so upset._

Far from easing the tension evident on Dean's face, Castiel's declaration seemed to make it worse. _No, no, I have to_ … Arms shaking, Castiel struggled to push himself upright. Agony seared through him as his back twisted, and he slumped back down with a pained cry.

"Cas! Shit, I…" Dean huffed out a breath. "Show me your back." Grimacing, Castiel rolled so that his back faced the camera. Though Dean was out of sight, the way he hissed as he saw the damage spoke volumes. "Fuck, you don't do things by halves, do you…"

"40 strokes, sir, by your orders." The longer they spoke, the more the conviction grew that Castiel had done something wrong. Dean had seemed pleased while they were in the midst of the scene but he was clearly unhappy now. "I'll get up, I'll go to Charlie's – I'm sorry I've displeased you."

"What?" squawked Dean. Castiel flinched, moaned at the pain that spasmed through him as the muscles of his back clenched. The delightful tinge of pleasure that the pain had brought was gone now, the afterglow of his orgasm fading rapidly. "No – fuck, no, no, no, you haven't displeased me. Jesus, Cas, how can you even think that? I'm just really fucking worried about you and I'm pissed at myself because I should be there. I should be the one taking care of you, I should—"

"No!" _We can't meet. I can't be with you. I can't see you. I can't touch you. I can't trust myself in your presence._ Pushing aside everything – the pleasure, the pain, the fear, the anxiety – Castiel got his arms under him and pushed himself to his knees, grabbed hold of the sink vanity and pulled himself to his feet. There was blood smeared on his arms, on his legs, mixing with globs of come, making clumps of the dark strands of hair that lay thick on his thighs and crotch. A glimpse of his reflection in the mirror showed him a mockery of his own face: tear-streaked, hair wild, chin coated in saliva and blood.

 _Disgusting. I'm disgusting, I'm twisted, I'm broken, I'm deviant, I'm…_

"I'll go to Charlie's," he said, his voice guttural and broken from his cries.

 _How am I supposed to go to work tomorrow? What was I thinking? I shouldn't…I can't…_

"Cas." Dean sounded heartbroken and Castiel mood plummeted even further.

 _And after all of that I wasn't good enough for Dean. I tore myself to pieces for him and he thinks I'm filthy, he thinks I'm weak, he thinks…no. He said I was great, he said he's worried about me, he said…I'm dropping, this is drop, I'm crashing because it hurts and because I'm scared and I need help, I definitely need help, help me Dean, I want it to be you, I need it…_

"Will you tell me where you are?"

Full stop. For a moment, panic and terror blanked even Castiel's post-scene distress. He'd never crashed this completely this quickly, but it was the first time he'd done such an intense scene alone, the first time he and Dean had done anything to add to the collection of scars on Castiel's back. At the same time, he felt such longing. He wanted Dean to know where he was, wanted Dean to come to him, wanted Dean to claim him and take him away from everything that hurt.

"Not for me," Dean added hastily. _Of course not, Dean doesn't want me now – no, that doesn't even make sense, he came screaming my name, saying how beautiful I was, how good I was, he wants me, he does, he—_ "I want to call Charlie and ask her to go to you, instead of you trying to go to her. Or I could give you her number and you could call her. Whatever you're comfortable with, Cas. I just want to…I _have_ to take care of you."

Castiel's knees gave out and he crashed down to the tile floor, barely missed smacking his thigh on the dildo still suctioned to the floor. Splatters of blood struck the tiles and his computer monitor.

 _Shock. Some of this is shock. I'm bleeding a lot_.

"That's…that's a good idea," Castiel managed, pushing aside self-recrimination to focus on the things he and Dean had discussed in preparation for this scene. Reaching out, he changed the camera shot of Dean out of full-screen mode and checked his Skype account. As he'd hoped, Charlie was active and online. He opened a new chat and typed as best he could with shaking hands, "I cant go to u can u com here."

"I'm…I'm not okay, Dean," admitted Castiel aloud, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he waited for Charlie's response.

"I know – I know you're not, but you're gonna be fine, Cas," Dean said. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay with you until Charlie gets there, longer if you want. There's nothing wrong with enjoying what we did. There's nothing wrong with you."

 _We'll just have to keep at you until the lesson takes,_ Naomi's voice whispered in his memory.

 _No, no, I'm not that person any more, Dean is nothing like Naomi. Dean doesn't think I need fixing, training, reprogramming, repairing._

"Absolutely. Tell me where you are I'll be there ASAP. Anything I should bring?" Charlie's reply came through while Dean was talking.

"joule," Castiel typed back. "room 457." Letting Charlie see to him wasn't the same as telling Dean where he was. The more he'd gotten to know Charlie over the past months, the clearer it had become that she was no danger to him. She had Gilda. She was a lesbian. She was a dom, true, but she wasn't like any other dom he'd ever met, not even Dean. Charlie was _safe_ in a way that Dean wasn't. There was no danger that Castiel would want to stay with Charlie. He didn't want to be hers. He wanted to be Dean's.

"OMW," came Charlie's immediate answer.

Dean watched him expectantly.

"Charlie's coming," Castiel explained. Dean heaved a relieved sigh. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"You've nothing to be sorry for, Cas," Dean said. Every time Dean said his name, it grounded Castiel, helped him focus, and he loved it. "We knew this scene would be intense, that's why we did it in Dallas, where we knew Charlie could help. Just turned out to be even more so than we were expected. Can you do something for me?"

"I'll try."

"Call Reception and have them prepare a key for Charlie, that way she can get in without you having to get up," Dean suggested. Castiel nodded. It was a good idea.

 _Am I trusting too much? What if I'm wrong about Charlie? She knows where I am, now, she could tell Dean where to find me. They're friends. I can't trust my own judgment, I'm always so wrong about everything, that's why I can't do this, I can't meet Dean, I can't let Charlie in, what am I doing, what have I done, I…_

With difficulty, he rose again and tottered out of the bathroom. His room was lovely, pristine white curtains and sheets and blankets, modern black furniture with perfectly straight lines and harsh right angles. He tried and failed not to think about how he was dripping blood onto the crimson carpet. At least both were red; the way Castiel soiled everything he came in contact with would never show.

"Come back to the bathroom when you're done!" Dean called after him. Nodding again even though Dean couldn't see him, Castiel swooned against the desk, his head spinning. Perhaps nodding wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.

 _Nothing about this is the best idea I've ever had._

 _But it felt so_ good _while we were doing it._

Picking up the receiver on the hotel phone, Castiel hit the button to dial concierge.

"Good evening, Mr. Novak, how can we help you?"

"I have a guest coming." His voice sounded so _broken_ , _God, they'll know, everyone will know_. "I was hoping I could leave her name and have a key provided for her when she arrives."

There was a beat pause.

"She's not a prostitute," Castiel added pointedly.

"Of course not, sir." There was relief in the man's voice. "If you leave her name, we can make the arrangements. Please inform her that she'll be expected to show ID."

"Thank you, I will." Castiel hung up without waiting for a reply. All he wanted to do was slump down in place and wait until Charlie arrived, lose himself in dark thoughts and recrimination. The worst part, he kept circling back to, was that he'd enjoyed it. No, more than that, he'd _loved_ it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so good.

 _Leather strips bound Castiel's hands, his arms stretched over his head; metal cuffs bound his ankles, his legs spread-eagle, held apart by a bar and affixed to the table on which he lay. His arms, his thighs, his belly, his chest, all were decorated with small colorful plastic balls, the heads of pushpins that Naomi had placed with careful deliberation, slowly, one by one, embedded in his flesh in a pattern he couldn't fathom. Beads of blood tracked from each wound, a dozen, two dozen, three dozen, he'd lost count._

 _He wasn't supposed to lose count._

 _Terror swamped out the pleasure that each pinprick had bestowed, fear as euphoric as bliss in its own way, and as addictive. There was no point in apologizing. Naomi didn't care if he was sorry, she only cared if he obeyed._

" _Tsk, tsk," Naomi scolded with false gentleness. "This is precisely what I mean, Castiel. You try but you are not good enough, not nearly good enough. When I think of the effort I've invested in training you, it breaks my heart to see you fail_ again _."_

 _That wasn't true. She didn't have a heart._

" _We'll just have to go over the lesson again," she flicked one of the pushpins, driving it deeper, pain flickering red around Castiel's vision as his cock leaked._

When she's finished training me, I won't be broken any she's finished training me, I'll be fixed. I'll be healthy. I'll be normal.

 _He wasn't sure he believed that any longer. No matter how long they were together, how much they did, Castiel stayed broken. He continued to enjoy even the most sadistic punishments she concocted. There'd only been one time she'd pushed him too far, one time he'd used his safe word. She'd been so disappointed in him. A pushpin ground into the sensitive flesh of his nipple and he bit hard into his cheek to keep from screaming. He wouldn't disappoint her again. He wouldn't._

" _Cas!"_

 _Castiel wasn't sure who had spoken. There were two other doms present, friends that Naomi had invited to observe his training. Like all the observers who had seen him over the years, they wouldn't speak unless Naomi told them to, wouldn't become involved without express permission. Even other doms deferred to Naomi._

" _Cas! Come on, Cas!"_

 _Shuddering rippled pain through his torso, strained his wrists and ankles against his bindings, caused every pin to tear and judder at his flesh agonizingly. "Are you ready to behave, Castiel?" He didn't respond. She didn't want him to. She wanted him to lie still, to contain his pain and pleasure, to be open and prepared for whatever she wanted. If he was very good, maybe she'd let him inside her. It had been so long. "Excellent. You've got so much yet to learn but sometimes you are able to perform adequately." A flush of happiness suffused him, causing his cock to twitch involuntarily and pearl with early release. "Zack, he's all yours."_

" _Shit…Stay with me."_

No, no, no, please Naomi, I want you, please, don't let him fuck me, please…

 _One of the observers came towards Castiel, a leer on his face as he reached between Castiel's legs and roughly fingered his dry hole, and Castiel knew no prep was going to be involved in the sex to come. "I know you'll be such a good boy for my friend, won't you, Castiel? Don't embarrass me, now..." Through sheer force of will, Castiel kept from squeezing his eyes closed, kept from twitching his legs in a futile attempt to close them, kept from showing how little he wanted what was about to come. He could be good for Naomi. He had to be good for Naomi._

" _Please, Cas, come back…"_

 _Dean_.

With a groan, Castiel shook off the memory. Nausea choked his throat with bile; he was on his knees, his forehead pressed against the edge of the desk, fists clenched so tightly that his fingernails dug into his palms. Ever since he'd started scening with Dean regularly, he'd been plagued by the past he'd tried so hard to repress. Even so, the intensity of this flashback was beyond anything he'd experienced before.

"Speak to me, Cas, please buddy."

 _Dean is not Naomi._

Dean would not punish him for _needing_. Dean would not hurt Castiel unless Castiel consented to be hurt. Dean asked about Castiel's limits, was genuinely interested in his answers, would not push past where Castiel said _stop_. They talked about their scenes, they talked about Castiel's willingness to be cut open, they talked about safe words and subspace and drop and punishments and rewards and praise and choice.

"I'm coming, Dean," Castiel called, forcing himself up, forcing himself to movement, forcing himself to face his dom despite his fears.

They never talked about Naomi, and they never would.

"I called Charlie," Dean explained as Castiel came back into the room. Panic thrummed beneath Castiel's skin again and he collapsed in front of the toilet struggling not to vomit, glad that he was enough in Dean's sight to ease his worries, enough out of Dean's sight not to add to them. "She said where you're staying is close to her house, she should be there in a few minutes. Gilda is with her – is that okay?"

"Yes," croaked Castiel.

"Are you alright, Cas? What happened when you went in the other room?" asked Dean. There was fear in his voice, fear for Castiel's safety and health; the concern helped Castiel fight through his own fears. Dean didn't hold all the power in their relationship, Dean didn't own him or control him. Castiel had chosen to do this scene, whatever the consequences, and Dean would help him face those consequences.

"I'm…" Stomach settling, Castiel turned so that Dean could see his face, taking a moment to tug the toy cock from the floor and toss it negligently in the sink. "I'm fine."

"Cas," Dean sighed, "you don't need to tell me but please don't lie. I know you're not fine."

"I'm not fine," Castiel agreed. "But I don't want to talk about it, not right now."

"I understand," said Dean. Castiel resisted the urge to say whatever he had to, anything to get the clouded, sad look off of Dean's handsome face. "We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

"Yes, of course." It wouldn't be an easy conversation, but Castiel had come to understand how essential such talks were. Even if he couldn't bring himself to explain _why_ he hurt so much, he needed to tell Dean how he'd reacted, how quickly the glow had faded, and they'd need to consider if it was safe to indulge in similar scenes in the future. The thought of not doing so left him feeling strangely bereft. As scared and upset as Castiel grew when he allowed his masochistic side free license, he felt even worse when he denied it completely.

"For now, please just listen to me," Dean continued. "I've got you, Cas, and I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'll never do anything without your consent, I'll never hurt you unless you wish me to, I'll never restrain you without your permission. Whatever has happened to you in the past, whoever hurt you before, I'm not that person and I will do whatever I must to prove that to you, as many times as you need me to. You're an amazing sub, and…"

Castiel let his eyes slip shut listening to the calming litany of Dean's words. Dean had said similar to him before, many times, but hearing the reassurance and praise never ceased to be a comfort. As long as Dean continued to speak, Castiel could lose himself completely. There was nothing but Dean, nothing but the comforting reminders that Castiel had done nothing wrong, that he was allowed this, that he'd allowed himself this.

A knock interrupted Dean.

"Cas, is it okay if we come in?" Charlie spoke louder than she had to in order to be audible through the door. Castiel's stomach dropped again as he realized how thin the walls were. When he was crying out – when he screamed – everyone must have—

"That Charlie?" Dean asked.

"Yes – yes, come in," Castiel said. Breathing deeply, Castiel tried to keep calm. Whatever others heard or didn't hear was irrelevant, it was too late to do anything about it now. His ribs ached with undissipated tension, his back stung as his body flexed around his expanding lungs. There was a click as a key was inserted in the lock, a louder click as the knob turned and the door opened. Through the open bathroom door, Castiel could see the slow, hesitant way that Charlie stepped in, Gilda on her heels. Both women were dressed in their pajamas, Charlie's red hair done in pigtails, Gilda's in a long braid down her back; despite Charlie's attempts to move quietly, a large duffel bag draped over her shoulder rattled as she moved.

"Hello, Charlie," Castiel said, meeting her eyes with difficulty. _She won't judge me. I have nothing to be ashamed of._ She smiled warmly, which made him more embarrassed than if she'd condemned him.

"Hey Cas – hey Dean," she replied brightly. Gilda made a concerned noise as she surveyed the damage to Castiel's back and the blood splattered on the surfaces of the otherwise pristine white-tiled bathroom. "We got ya covered, you can head out now."

 _No!_

"No," Dean said sharply, a perfect echo to Castiel's distressed thought. "No, I'm staying." Charlie nodded as if she'd expected nothing else and set about unpacking her bag, using the counter of the bathroom as a staging area. As she worked, Gilda helped Castiel get comfortable. Eying the bleached bathroom towels with an irritated frown, she took two towels that they'd brought and made a cushion of them, helping Castiel to sit in a position that wouldn't aggravate his wounds. He couldn't see how badly cut up his back was but every movement hurt and he trickles of blood flowed whenever his movements cracked the new-formed scabs. When she was sure Castiel was as comfortable as the situation allowed, Gilda disappeared into the other room, and though Castiel didn't know what she did, he could hear a rustle of fabric that made him think it had something to do with the bed.

"Thanks for today, Cas," Dean spoke while Charlie worked. "I feel like a broken record, telling you again how fuckin' fantastic you were – don't want you to think I don't mean it just cause I say it often...seriously, I mean it, and you're fantastic." He kept speaking as Charlie settled behind him and gently saw to his wounds, applying antiobiotic cream, placing bandages, soothing away the pain with a deft, tender touch. He'd never had someone care for him after a scene, not like this. From the first brush of fingers on his aching skin, his dark thoughts dissipated, skittered to the shadows of his mind and lurked there temporarily forgotten. Charlie's hands on him were _divine_ , the only thing better would be if Dean himself were there to help.

 _No, I can't have that…right?_

There was a distinct shift in Dean's tone of voice as Castiel settled into ease and accepted the relief that Charlie offered. The good feelings that Castiel had thought gone returned somewhat. It _had_ been a great scene, for all that it had left him bloodied and hurting and stretched open. "So fucking strong," said Dean reverently. "Fuckin' 40 strokes, Charlie, he did 40 strokes himself!"

"Wow, Cas." Charlie's cheerful voice was subdued and kind, a perfect match to her delicate touch. "That's fricken badass."

"Done more before," Castiel murmured. He nearly giggled at how blissed out he sounded. Even the massages that Dean had arranged for him hadn't been like this. The touch had been nice, of course, but it wasn't the same. Those people didn't _know_ , couldn't understand, and Castiel had always feared he was being silently judged even though he knew, intellectually, that there was no way the massage therapist could know the twisted behaviors Castiel engaged in that led him to his pained joints and rope burns. Charlie _knew_ , she knew that Castiel's injuries were self-inflicted, knew that Castiel had whipped himself bloody at Dean's behest, because Dean had said he deserved to be punished and Castiel agreed, she knew that Castiel had gotten off on it, had casually used a washcloth to wipe semen from his leg and from the floor. Charlie understood all of that, and she didn't treat him like he was twisted, didn't treat him as unclean even as she cleaned him. There was easy acceptance in every touch of her fingers, in every word she said, in the gentle way she moved his body and scrubbed him clean of come and spit and sweat and tears and snot and blood.

"No falling asleep yet, Cas," Charlie reprimanded him. Startled, Castiel jerked his head up, eyes flying open, and groaned as the sudden movement jolted through his back. "Sorry, sorry! It's just, I don't think Gilda and I can carry you to the bed, so you gotta hold on a little longer, okay?"

"How're you feelin', Cas?" Dean asked. Blinking fatigue from his eyes, Castiel realized his lids no longer felt heavy with gunk; at some point, Charlie had wiped his face. Gilda stood at the sink, washing the lube-covered dildo.

"Embarrassed," Castiel muttered, blushing. Dean laughed, and Castiel's shame gave way to happiness. He couldn't help but smile; Dean's warmth was infectious. "Better," Castiel continued. "Much better. This was a really good idea. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"No worries," said Charlie brightly. "We wanted to help."

"I'm very glad we were available to do this for you, since Dean can't," Gilda agreed.

If Castiel hadn't been looking at Dean, he'd have had no idea how Gilda's words affected him. As it was, he couldn't look away. Dean flinched, colored, scowled, his brow furrowed. When he realized that Castiel was watching, he forced a smile on his face but looked away, refusing to meet Castiel's eyes.

"Are you alright, Dean?" Dean's pain felt like Castiel's pain, cut him as deeply as the belt buckle had dug into his back.

"I'm fine," Dean said evasively. Castiel managed to give him a stink eye – a surprising effort, he was more tired than he realized, drained by the exertions of the scene and the sudden crash into stress and anxiety he'd experienced afterwards – and Dean responded with a wan smile. "Guess I'm shit at following my own advice, huh?" Castiel quirked an eyebrow at him. "I'm not fine, Cas, but I don't want to talk about it yet, either. We'll talk tomorrow when you're done with work, okay?"

"Are you leaving?" asked Castiel, alarmed. Charlie made a calming noise in his ear, rubbing his arms reassuringly.

"Not 'til you fall asleep," Dean promised. Castiel let out a relieved sigh. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

With Charlie's help, Castiel got to his feet. The pain in his back had faded to a dull throb and his thoughts remained wonderfully quiet. Gilda grabbed the laptop and carried it out into the other room, Castiel and Charlie trailing behind. Determined to walk under his own power, Castiel shook off Charlie's supportive grip but she continued to hover around him as if she expected him to keel over at any moment, as if there was anything she could do to catch him considering her head barely came up to his chin. The bed had been transformed while Castiel lingered on the bathroom floor, the blankets pulled free, additional pillows produced from who-knew-where, and a set of pajamas were laid out for him. Carrie flopped among the pillows, precisely where Castiel had left her when he'd unpacked the day before upon his arrival in Dallas. Shame was starting to intrude again – he was standing naked before two virtual strangers. He'd grown friendly with both women over Skype over the past few months, but their friendship couldn't encompass this degree of intimacy. He'd allowed them to clean up his blood and come, allowed them to wash his dildo and sponge off his crack, allowed them to bandage and pamper him, and now he had no choice but to allow them to help him in to his pajama bottoms, because his balance was too shot for him to put them on himself. The embarrassment brought with it tension, and tension brought pain that shivered through his torn back.

"It's okay, Cas, you're okay," murmured Charlie bracingly, her hands surprisingly strong against his side and arm.

"You're staying, right?" he asked hesitantly. The original plan for the evening had been that, after the scene, Castiel would go to Charlie and Gilda's home and spend the night with them. He'd been nervous – about accepting care from them, about being an imposition, about the suggestion that they'd all share a bed as a way of giving him comfort – but he'd suspected that the beating would be brutal and the crash afterwards had the potential to be worse. Both had proved true, and now that he was here he didn't want to lose the human connection that had been forged when Charlie cared for him. He was frightened and ashamed, but he was also desperate.

"We're all staying," said Dean. Gilda and Charlie nodded their agreement; Gilda climbed into the bed and held the blankets up for Castiel. "We've got you. You're a fricken miracle, Cas, and you deserve all the care and comfort we can give you." With a shy smile, Castiel climbed into bed, grabbed Carrie, snugged a couple pillows about his shoulders and curled up on his side. Gilda laid a tentative hand on his waist, waited for him to shift his arm, and then pulled closer to him. She was thin and bony but her skin was soft; she exuded warmth and smelled faintly of flowers. Behind him, he felt the bed shift as Charlie curled up at his back, close enough that he could feel her heat, far enough that she didn't put any pressure on his wounds. Tears pricked at Castiel's eyes.

 _I'm not supposed to want this. I'm not supposed to get it. The lashes were my punishment. Caring for me afterwards only softens the blow, raises the danger that the punishment won't take. How can I learn to adjust my behavior if the punishment isn't enforced after the fact?_

 _Dean didn't bring Charlie and Gilda here as a demonstration of how a properly trained submissive behaves. Dean isn't trying to train me. Dean isn't trying to change me. Dean thinks I'm fine just the way I am. He punishes me for my_ actions _, not for being who I am._

"You doin' better now, Cas?" asked Dean.

"Yes," he murmured tiredly. "Thank you. Thank you all."

Sleep came quickly, the loss of emotions leaving him empty and exhausted, and Castiel surrendered to it with a happy sigh.

* * *

Endnote: I've got part of the next chapter written already; I'm going to try to get it up by end-of-day Saturday. I'm guessing this story will be around six chapters total, but it might be longer.


	2. Chapter 2

For the (very NSFW) image that goes with this chapter, go to unforth-ninawaters dot tumblr dot com, slash post/146279282783/well-small-sample-size-suggests-wed-like-update

Sorry about the delays on this. I was trying to get a whole additional scene in this chapter and I didn't finish that scene until today and then when I was editing I realized just how long the chapter had gotten (like over 12k words) and I split it and if I'd just done that in the first place the chapter would probably have been up on Saturday. Ah well. Plus side, this means the next chapter should be done sooner, since I have another 7k words written beyond what's been posted...

* * *

Dull, aching pain woke Castiel to his darkened hotel room, nearly black except for the brightly lit clock indicating that Castiel's alarm would go off shortly. Daylight savings time would end in a few days, but until it did Dallas stayed dark until well into the morning, and Castiel didn't like how difficult darkness made it to get out of bed. It was even harder this morning; the pain reminded him that his day was likely to be rough, contrasted to the warmth and reassurance offered by the two women curled protectively on either side of him. Every twinge of pain triggered the familiar, unpleasant train of thought that condemned him roundly for his desires; every movement that brushed him against Gilda or Charlie reminded him that it was alright that he wanted this, it was alright that he'd enjoyed the beating and gotten off on it, it was alright that he engaged in alternative sexual behaviors with other consenting adults. It was alright for Castiel to be Castiel.

Or was it? Whenever he tried to think of himself as anything other than deviant, whenever he tried to accept himself as he was, to trust himself, memories of Naomi surged so powerfully he wished that he'd never allowed himself to start examining and accepting the things that she'd done with him – the things that she'd done _to_ him.

" _Castiel, Castiel, Castiel, what am I going to do with you?" Normally, disappointment tinging the voices of the adults in Castiel's life was so familiar that it didn't bother him, but there was something about Professor Tapping that made him want to do better. The few times she'd been proud of him had left him with an unfamiliar glow of pride in his breast. The nearly painful stab that her displeasure caused was as depressing as the other was heartening, and far more common. Castiel wondered why he'd even bothered to come to class. As hungover as he was, no good could come of attendance. He didn't want her to see him like that, not when her kind words made him feel worthwhile, not when he'd seen the tenderness and desire in her eyes when he pleased her. He'd rather face her more mild displeasure when he was absent than her reprobation for his dilapidated appearance and inattentive fatigue._

" _You do it to yourself, you know," she continued, unaware of the self-condemnation circling his head. Of course he did it to himself. He couldn't help it. The temptation of alcohol and drugs was so strong, compounded by the false sense of camaraderie that getting messed up forged between him and his schoolmates. He'd had so few friends, but when he was drunk, when he was high, everyone was his friend, everyone approved of him. That was all he wanted: to feel like he belonged, for once in his life; to feel like he was worth something more than the poverty and exclusion of his childhood. It was only the next day, when he crashed, that he realized how hollow it all was. He longed for that feeling of acceptance all the time, craved it, was far too weak to resist the sham appearance of it, and so every time they invited him again, he fell into the same trap. God, he was pathetic. "What you lack, Castiel, is self-control. You have so much potential, you radiate with it, but you are weak."_

 _Castiel looked up at the Professor incredulously. He was not weak. He'd started working when he was twelve. He had helped support his family, helped them get food on the table and kept a roof over their heads, at an age when most of his classmates were obsessed with cartoons and boy bands. He was putting himself through college._

 _But…_

 _But he was blowing college. But he wasn't good enough. But he wasn't strong enough. But he wasn't smart enough. But he couldn't resist the temptations that surrounded him. He'd run up credit card debt, drained his bank account, lost his second job when he missed a shift because he was fucked up out of his mind, failed a class his second semester. He had to do better, but he couldn't find his way out. The siren song of "hey Cas, come drinking with us!" was too strong. When Balthazar came by his room, threw an arm around his shoulder and called him buddy, pal, friend, "dear Cassie," it didn't matter how much homework Castiel had or what shifts he was scheduled for the next day. The temptation to let everything go and just_ be _for a few hours was irresistible. He gave in every time._

 _She was right. He wasn't good enough, not how he was now, but perhaps, with help, he could be. Ms. Tapping was a great teacher. "Can you help me, Professor?" He was sure she could help him._

" _I'm willing to try, but you're going to have to work hard, very hard, to impress me," she said sternly. "Why don't you come by my office tonight and we can discuss this further?"_

" _That would be great," Castiel was amazed by how relieved he felt. Finally, someone wanted to help him, someone thought he was worth something even though he wasn't offering anything in return. "Office hours are at 7, right?"_

" _Yes," she said. "Don't be late." He nodded and forced himself to his feet. His head pounded, his stomach roiled, but for the first time since his sophomore year started, he felt hope. Someone was going to help. "Oh, and Castiel? Call me Naomi, please."_

 _Naomi was going to help_.

The shrill beep of his alarm pulled Castiel from his memories. Shuddering, he tried to repress them again. That night, their first night, Naomi had been so free with her praises. She'd helped him write a study plan, schedule his entire month so that he wouldn't be tempted to go out on unplanned excursions, penciled time with her into every point where inactivity might tempt him to stray. She'd called him beautiful, called him smart, promised that with her help his potential wouldn't be wasted. She'd gagged him with a crumpled copy of her class syllabus, told him not to make a sound, sucked his cock until his knees gave way, slapped him each time he made a noise, dug her nails into his balls when he dribbled come on her suit, and told him that his performance had been adequate but that he'd have to do much better to impress her.

He had wanted to do better. He had wanted to impress her. He worked so damn hard, tried his best, gave her everything she asked for.

He never did impress her.

"Shh, shh, you're okay," murmured a female voice in his ear. Panic clutched at his throat so tightly he gasped and choked trying to draw breath. _No, no, I left, I'm free, she doesn't own me anymore_.

"Breathe, Cas," whispered another voice, a gentle hand coming to rest over his heart. _Naomi was never gentle. Naomi always called me by my full name. Naomi hated to share me with other women. That means…what does that mean…?_

"Charlie?" Castiel asked uncertainly.

"Yes, I'm here, Cas." Her breath was warm and wet on his skin, her hand soothing as it caressed down his side.

"Gilda," he added, heaving a sigh of relief.

"You didn't mention that you get nightmares." Gilda's tone was gently scolding, but when Castiel opened his eyes, her expression was kind, her smile unjudging and open.

"Not nightmares," he said, surprised to find his throat dry, his voice hoarse. "It's nothing."

 _Naomi is nothing. She's no one._

"Roll on to your stomach, Cas, I want to check on your wounds and redress them before you get out of bed," Charlie instructed.

The morning passed too quickly. Under Charlie's ministrations, Castiel was quickly soothed, his back slathered with triple antibiotic cream and bound by bandages. Gilda disappeared into the bathroom and then left the room, returning with a heaping platter of free continental breakfast and a pitcher of orange juice. They pulled the room's desk away from the wall, dragged the office chair, arm chair and ottoman around it and shared a pleasant breakfast. Partway through, Castiel's phone pinged with a text from Dean, and while Castiel didn't admit to the flashbacks he'd had the previous night or that morning, he was honest and forthright about how he felt. As difficult as Castiel found it to be open, Dean needed to be aware that Castiel's back hurt, his body ached, and he was divided in his thoughts over whether he was allowed to enjoy what they'd done. Dean offered him comfort and praise as he always did, offered the kind of reassurance Naomi had never given him, reminded Castiel yet again of how his current dom was different than his past ones. Saying his goodbyes to Charlie and Gilda, promising to join them for dinner so that they could see him well fed and cared for, Castiel left for work punctually feeling as good as he ever had after as violent a scene as they'd shared the previous night.

Normally, Castiel didn't spend much time in Dallas. His team, responsible for international contract negotiation, was based at Corporate Headquarters in Columbus, whereas Sandover's domestic division was housed in a luxurious office building in downtown Dallas. The building was the height of modernity and had been completed only a year before, twenty stories of shimmering glass sparkling in the morning sunlight. It was a beautiful facility, but for all that Castiel would rather be in his small, pokey, over-warm office in the hundred-year-old skyscraper Sandover owned in Columbus. This building was Zachariah Adler's domain. Castiel hadn't liked him to begin with, and after his run in with Adler at _Hack and Slash_ the previous summer, Castiel was even less comfortable in his presence. They'd only seen each other in passing since then but now Castiel faced the prospect of working closely with the other man for an entire month as they co-negotiated a merger between Sandover and their one-time competitor Industrial Alliances. Since both businesses had domestic and international arms, Joshua felt that Castiel and Adler should work together to bring the deal to a satisfactory conclusion.

For Joshua, Castiel was willing to try.

Adler hadn't arrived when Castiel stepped off the elevator on the 20th floor at 8 AM. Alfie looked startled to see him even though they'd discussed Castiel's expected arrival time. The executive assistant stammered his apologies that Adler likely wouldn't be there until ten and hustled Castiel into a small office that had been set aside for Castiel's use. Even though it only contained a desk, computer, office chair, filing cabinet and two chairs for visitors, it felt cluttered. Frowning, Castiel considered if there was any way he could rearrange the furniture to improve the situation, but the windowless room was tiny and the door wouldn't be able to open if Castiel moved the desk a damn millimeter. With a sigh, he settled down, booted the computer up and plugged his iPad in to the USB port.

While he waited for Windows to load, he checked his e-mail. First thing in the morning Castiel invariably had a full inbox awaiting him as international contacts had hours of daylight ahead of him to get work done. When Castiel only had a few days in the States, he wouldn't even adjust his schedule to local time, he'd continue to wake up at 2 or 3 in the morning, work on emails and long distance conference calls, and then report for his regular work day. The scene the previous night had ensured that Castiel did no such thing. Leaning back now in his chair, the twinges of pain helped keep the bulk of messages from overwhelming him. One by one, he worked his way through them. Most, he was cc'ed and didn't need to do more than quickly read through. A few required responses, and Anna had sent him a long e-mail describing her intended activities for the week and seeking his approval on a few matters. Writing back consumed a great deal of time, and when he finished it was after nine-thirty and he had only one e-mail left, from an unfamiliar email address. Unsure what to expect but trusting to the firewalls and protections that guarded Sandover's high-ranking executives from unsolicited communication, Castiel opened the message.

 _To: castiel._

 _From: sandyblueeyes100_

 _Sent: Nov 1 02:04:00_

[IMAGE]

 _Peek-a-boo!_

Castiel's stomach dropped, his back gave a painful throb, and his breathes came in hoarse pants. _How?_ The image was one that he'd posted to his SextersAnon profile when he was trying to entice Dean, carefully trimmed to show him bound and burned but omitting his face. Naomi had rarely photographed him, preferring to keep him for her own viewing pleasure, only shared with the select few whom she deemed worthy to observe their scenes and those whom she permitted to use Castiel for their pleasure. His stomach twisted, threatened him with the prospect of retching up his breakfast. He scanned over the e-mail again and recognized the username as belonging to the only person other than Dean he'd messaged back before he'd canceled his SextersAnon account. SandyBlueEyes100 must have saved the image before Castiel removed his profile. How could he have found out Castiel's work e-mail? Why contact him now? Feeling sick, his arm moving with dreamlike slowness, Castiel went to remove the message from his inbox.

"Morning, Novak," Adler's smarmy voice interrupted him, so close that Castiel jumped and his back quaked agony. "Whatcha got there?"

"Nothing," Castiel said harshly, swiping his finger over the delete button. Only willpower kept the string of curses in his head from bursting free as the iPad asked him to confirm his desire to delete the e-mail, the debauched image of him on display the entire time. The office was so small that Adler loomed over him as he worked, and Castiel coughed down vomit. First the sex store, then this. What must Adler think of him? "Just a work e-mail. Are you ready to begin, Adler?"

"Please, call me Zachariah," said Adler with a broad, toothy grin. "Or sir," he added with a false laugh. Nausea roiled, tension ratcheted up the level of pain in his back, but Castiel gritted his teeth, steeled his resolve, and nodded. "Great. We're going to have so much fun this month!"

* * *

"Hey Cas, thanks for calling." Dean sounded tired, understandably since between work and dinner with Charlie and Gilda, Castiel hadn't been able to call him until close to midnight. Castiel was exhausted, too, and part of him wanted to demure from this conversation, ask that they hold it another time, but now that he was back in his hotel room by himself his anxiety had surged nauseatingly and he wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep even if he hung up. At least if he and Dean talked, Castiel might be able to dissipate some of the worries plaguing him. Dean's approval meant everything to him.

Add that to the list of things about this situation that terrified Castiel.

"I said I would, Dean," Castiel said. His fear, desperation and urgent to maintain the distance between them – literal and metaphorical – kept his voice flat. Setting down the box that Charlie had given him with a firm injunction that he not open it until Dean told him to, Castiel slumped into the room's comfortable desk chair. "How are you feeling this evening?"

There was a too-long pause before Dean answered. "I'm doin' okay. How 'bout you, Cas?"

"I've been better," Castiel admitted. For a moment, he had the wild desire to confess everything to Dean. He wanted to tell Dean about SandyBlueEyes100 and the frightening e-mail he'd received. He wanted to tell Dean about Adler's words and Castiel's fears that the things Adler said were intentional insinuation, his self-doubt that said he was reading too much into it and that Adler knew nothing. He wanted to tell Dean about his past with Naomi and how he found some of their scenes, some of things Dean said, to be triggering. He wanted to talk to Dean about how his day had been, and find out how Dean's day had been, and discuss ordinary things like any two people – any two _friends_ – would do. He wanted to ask what was in the box from Charlie, wanted to ask for hints about their next scene, wanted a pleasant reminder of how much time and effort and thought Dean put into their relationship. He wanted to tell Dean his name, his _full_ name, hear Dean say _Castiel_ with the same reverent voice that he said _Cas_.

Castiel said nothing, and the silence stretched out between them.

 _This relationship isn't working._

 _Good. Just because I want it doesn't mean it's a good idea. If I was stronger I'd have ended it after our first scene. No matter what Dean says, no matter what Charlie and Gilda say, I'm weak and I always have been. Naomi was and always will be right about me._

 _No. No, that's not right. I can't keep thinking that way. I thought I was passed that._

"Do you think this is working?" Dean asked at length, demonstrating for the umpteenth time his uncanny ability to read Castiel's damn mind.

"I…I don't know," was the closest to the truth that Castiel could bring himself to say. "I want it to work." _Even though I shouldn't want that_.

Dean exhaled loudly. "Me too, Cas. But…" He drew another breath, audible, bracing. "Dude, I can't keep doing this, not this way. Yesterday fuckin' killed me. I…you…" Dean huffed out another breath. Castiel waited patiently for him to continue, but no further words came.

"It's okay, Dean," said Castiel encouragingly. "You can tell me anything." _I wish I could tell you everything._ "I trust you." _But not enough, not as much as I should. I'm too broken for that. I'm too broken for all of this, and I'm breaking Dean as a result. If I hadn't asked for him to punish me when I misbehave, if I hadn't pushed for a scene to indulge my masochistic tendencies, he wouldn't be upset like this_.

"Shit," muttered Dean. "Look, here's the thing. I'm _supposed_ to take care of you. Like, all the time, but _especially_ after a scene like yesterday. Seeing you hurt so bad, when I couldn't do a damn fucking thing useful but sit there and run my mouth? It fricken sucked. I want…" Dean took another deep breath. "I want to see you, Cas."

"No."

"I want to _really_ see you, _really_ scene with you, _really_ touch you, _really_ take care of you," Dean continued, voice growing increasingly desperate.

"I said _no_ , Dean," Castiel repeated emphatically.

"Why not? You didn't mind seeing Charlie and Gilda, haven't minded meeting them – you let Charlie take care of you!" Dean grew louder, upset, angry perhaps. There were so many conflicting emotions in Dean's tone that Castiel found it unreadable and overwhelming, his displeasure as painful as the clothing that had chafed over Castiel's back all day.

"It's not the same," said Castiel, praying Dean wouldn't push him to say more.

"Why not?" Dean asked again, more insistently. There was a note of command in his voice that set Castiel's heart pattering, that compelled him to answer.

" _I hate it when you don't answer me, Castiel. I'll teach you to speak when I tell you to – and to hold silent the rest of the time. I'll teach you to give answers I find satisfactory. Think of it like the classes of mine you've taken. Correct answers, insightful answers, earn a passing grade. Incorrect answers, you fail and face the consequences. Do you understand?"_

He couldn't bear to think of the consequences if he didn't answer Dean.

 _There were always consequences. Beatings, floggings, burns, cuts, isolation, denial, condemnation…the times she had me stand naked in the cold for hours; the times she chained me to the radiator for days to await her forgiveness amidst my own filth; the times she shared me with other doms even though she knew I didn't like it –_ because _she knew I didn't like it; the times she showered other, more compliant, subs with her approval while pointedly excluding me; more, God, so many more._

 _What will Dean do to me if I don't answer him?_

"Because I don't want Charlie," said Castiel in a rush. He wanted to get off the phone, wanted to escape his memories, wanted to curl up in a ball and forget any of this ever happened to him, wanted to grab Carrie from the bed, hold the stuffy close and cry.

 _I hate feeling this unstable. I hate_ feeling _this much. I don't_ think _he'll do anything to hurt me, even if I try to keep silent, but I can't take that chance._

"But you want me."

He wanted Dean. He wanted Dean so damn badly.

He'd wanted Naomi, too.

Castiel had a terrible track record for wanting things he wasn't allowed to have.

"After all this time, you still don't trust me."

They'd been doing scenes together for almost six months. They'd talked on the phone for hours, exchanged dozens of e-mails and countless texts. They'd held in-depth discussions about their most embarrassing kinks, the things they craved that they'd been ashamed to admit. They'd talked about their bodies, about how they touched and wanted to be touched, about how things felt. They'd talked about scenes, batted ideas back and forth, refined and planned together. They'd talked about sex toys they'd used, toys they'd like to use, how they'd like to use them. Nothing sexual had been off limits as they'd negotiated their relationship.

Castiel trusted Dean with his sexual desires.

He didn't trust Dean with anything else.

 _I'm too broken to trust. I was broken to begin with, and then Naomi broke me worse when she tried to fix me, when she promised she knew the secret to making it all better. I was broken when I believed her, more broken by the time I finally realized it was all a lie and I left._

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel whispered.

Dean laughed, a cold, unnatural sound that made Castiel want to cry. "Shouldn't be. You didn't do anything wrong. How can I ask you to trust me when I could do to you what I did yesterday and not even help you after?"

"You didn't do anything to me yesterday," said Castiel. "I did it to myself."

 _I do all of this to myself. If only I were stronger. If only I didn't_ want _._

"Cas, you beat yourself bloody with a belt buckle for no reason other than that I told you to," Dean said dryly.

"No," Castiel shook his head though he knew Dean couldn't see. "I beat myself with a belt buckle because you set out certain parameters for my behavior and I did not comply with your expectations. Punishment was to be expected – I invited it, in fact, with willful misdeeds. Further, you vetted the scene with me before we proceeded and I gave my approval. Had I not been able to complete your demands, I could have used my safe word at any time."

There was an excruciatingly long pause.

"Dean, I blame you for nothing," Castiel tried again. "We are in a consensual relationship."

"Are we?" said Dean.

"Of course, you are very thorough about discussing scenes ahead of time, and excellent about unpacking them afterwards."

"Are we in a relationship, Cas?" Dean reiterated.

"I'm your sub," Cas replied with blank confusion. "You're my dom."

"If this is a relationship, why don't we ever talk about anything other than kink? For fucksake, you won't even tell me your name, Cas," exasperation exploded in Dean's voice so powerfully that Castiel flinched.

 _Answer his questions, tell him everything, tell him…_

"My name is Dean Winchester," Dean continued roughly. "I live at 10102 Mission Road, Leawood, Kansas, 66206. I have a studio at—"

"Stop, Dean."

" _I have a studio_ at 1702 West Baltimore Avenue in Kansas City, Missouri. My website is .com. I—"

" _I said stop_ ," Castiel interrupted again. His heart raced, his vision blurred. "I can't…I can't do that, Dean." _He's my dom. Answer his questions. He'll punish me. He'll punish me. He'll punish me. He'll…_ "I'm sorry, I can't. I just…I can't." _Dean isn't Naomi. Please, Dean, don't be Naomi._ "I'll accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate."

Another endless break in the conversation wound Castiel's nerves tighter and tighter.

 _He's angry, he's planning to break things off. Even if he says it's alright, how can I believe that? I've never defied him like this. He gave me 40 lashes for exclaiming 'oh God' while we were having sex, what might he force me to for flagrant disobedience?_

 _No, no, nononono Dean is not Naomi, he didn't force me, his actions weren't arbitrary, his punishment wasn't decided without consulting me, he won't treat me like she did, I have to believe that, I_ have _to._

"Are we still on for Sunday?" asked Dean softly.

"Whatever you wish of me," agreed Castiel, fear choking at his throat.

"I'll touch base Saturday night and make sure we're still green light, okay?" Castiel murmured a reply that Dean took as assent, for he said, "okay, awesome. I'll talk to you then."

Castiel didn't think he'd ever heard Dean less enthusiastic at the prospect of a scene.

 _Whatever punishment he's concocting, it's going to be terrible._

 _I'll accept it._

 _I deserve it._

 _Dean has given me everything, and I've given him nothing in return. I don't deserve him._

 _I wonder what Naomi would say if she could see me now._

* * *

Corporate mergers were an immense amount of work, fortunately, so Castiel's week flew by in a haze of sixteen-plus hour days. By the time he returned to his hotel room each night, he didn't have the energy left to think about Dean, or Charlie and Gilda, or Adler, or Naomi, or what fate was in store for him after his defiance. Dean checked in on him regularly, as he always did, and Castiel responded succinctly, as he always did, and that was the extent of their interaction. His back was healing well, which was a blessing and a curse. The pain was an endless distraction and a constant reminder both of his past sins and of those to come, but it also served as reassurance that he could earn forgiveness. Whatever Dean asked, Castiel would accept meekly.

 _No, no, he doesn't own me, I don't have to consent if I don't want to._

 _Naomi wouldn't care, Naomi made me do things even when I didn't wish them._

 _Dean isn't Naomi. Even if Dean_ were _Naomi, Dean doesn't know where to find me. He can't make me, because he isn't here._

 _But if he asks me to do something I don't want to…_

Castiel could no longer honestly say if he'd obey or not.

… _Charlie could tell him where I am_.

She and Gilda had promised not to do so, reminded him that his secret was safe with her as she'd wished him a goodnight the previous Monday and admonished him not to open the box she'd presented him with. Castiel wanted to believe her, wanted to believe all three of them, so badly. Wanting to believe and actually believing weren't the same thing, though, and no amount of trust could quiet his doubts and fears.

… _even if Charlie didn't tell him, he could still find me. SandyBlueEyes100 found me._

Normally, when he was disquieted, Castiel texted Dean in the morning and asked for permission to wear a self-tie underneath his clothing. The sense of peace usually carried him through even the most challenging days, and his work with Adler was frustrating and stressful. Whenever he thought about asking, though, he remembered Adler's innuendos, remembered the way that Adler had smirked when he'd caught Castiel at Charlie's store. Hints throughout the week suggested that Adler had seen the incriminating picture on Castiel's iPad screen. The chances that Castiel would be caught wearing something discrete like the tortoise shell were low – he'd not been caught yet – but weighed against the mortification he'd feel were he discovered, he didn't dare take the chance. When Dean texted him, he said he was recovering well and omitted any mention of stress. It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the complete truth.

When he finally collapsed Saturday night, with the promise that he'd have Sunday to rest and recover and scene, he eyed his phone and struggled to work up the nerve to call Dean. Dean had been so normal over the course of the week that Castiel had begun to doubt his assessment of the situation. Surely, Dean would have warned him, sought to discuss the coming scene and change his original plan if there was punishment coming. Naomi wouldn't have warned him, but Dean communicated with him. They'd not yet done a scene that they hadn't both agreed to, in basic terms, ahead of time. Dean had a list of possibilities that they'd discussed and he drew from that, adding enough of a spin each time that Castiel rarely knew what was coming even when he had hints. In this case, his only hint was the box that Charlie had pressed on him earlier in the week. As instructed, he hadn't opened it, and all he knew was that it wasn't heavy, that whatever was within shifted when he moved the box, and that Charlie had said to 'let her know if they liked it because she was considering selling something similar in the store.'

 _Castiel (10:43 PM)_ : I'm finished for the weekend.

Expecting a phone call, Castiel was surprised when instead his phone pinged with a new text message as he was changing into his PJs.

 _Dean (10:45 PM)_ : Glad to hear it. You work too hard. We're on for tomorrow at 10 AM. Leave at least four hours available. Aftercare is lunch at Charlie's, they'll take care of you.

Heart thumping, Castiel stared at the message and contemplated his reply. He wanted to ask if the plan had changed. He was surprised at the aftercare; the only reason Charlie had provided aftercare last time was that they'd known Castiel would be injured. Was there reason to think Castiel would take harm in this scene? So maybe Dean _had_ decided to punish him.

No. Dean would not hurt Castiel without checking with him first.

 _I have to trust him. I have to._

 _Castiel (10:46 PM)_ : Excellent. I'll be ready then.

* * *

Usually, Castiel woke up early regardless of whether he set an alarm. Anxiety had Castiel up even earlier. He couldn't help but worry what Dean had in store for him. Intellectually, he knew that his fears were unfounded, knew that there were many contributing factors to why Castiel was more anxious about this scene with Dean than he'd been for any scene they'd done together in months. Despite that, no amount of self-correction could calm him. Dean's suggestion that they meet had exacerbated the issue, but more than that, Castiel was alarmed by his reaction to their last scene, concerned how intensely he'd been remembering Naomi, exhausted from his work week, frustrated by Adler, and paranoid about the e-mail he'd received from SandyBlueEyes100. Unfortunately, all of that anxiety had decided to focus exclusively on his fears about Dean. Rather than indulge his obsessively circling nerves, Castiel donned his swimsuit and went for a swim in the hotel's pool.

The rush of water against his skin, the effort of pushing himself to do lap after lap, the light-headed feeling of never _quite_ getting enough air, combined to lull Castiel to a sense of peace he'd not felt since he'd arrived in Dallas the previous Saturday. It was a chilly morning, early on a Sunday, so he had the pool to himself. Castiel preferred privacy to swim; at the best of times his scars excited concerned looks and sympathetic words, but with the wounds from his last scene still healing Castiel would have needed to wear a shirt to hide his injuries. Whenever people saw them, he wondered if they knew how he'd gotten them, wondered what they must be thinking of him. He hated feeling like he was under a microscope, hated the way people stared, hated when they offered kindly words as if Castiel hadn't gotten what he deserved. He'd earned his scars, a badge of honor to remind him that, when he misbehaved, he'd taken his punishment and _earned_ forgiveness, rather than having it handed to him for free. Despite that…

" _It's not up to me, Castiel," Naomi said. There was nothing in her voice to give away her true feelings; as always, she was a cipher, a mystery, and Castiel was left to guess her expectations, guess her desires, guess what would be enough. "You have admitted to your transgression. You have agreed that punishment is required. I have impressed upon you the magnitude of your sin. It is for you to tell me when you have sufficiently atoned."_

 _Castiel hated when Naomi gave him choices. Her mind was unknowable, unfathomable to him, so being forced to guess what she wanted, knowing that if he guessed wrong the consequences would be severe, was terrible. That she'd given him the choice at all was part of the punishment. She knew too well how sick it made him to be granted so much responsibility for his own fate. She knew that if she said 10 strikes, 20 strikes, 50 strikes with the flogger, Castiel was well enough trained that he'd take his beating with hardly a whimper, but when it was for him to decide? When he was sure she had a number in mind? If he wasn't trying so hard to be good, to contain his tears and his whimpers, to hold back his orgasm, to keep his body relaxed and ready, he'd throw up._

" _Please continue, mistress," he whispered meekly._

 _His flesh was already tender from the thirty strikes she'd delivered thus far. Pain sparked like fire through Castiel's body. Naomi gave no indication if she approved or disapproved of his request, only raised her arm and brought the many-tailed flogger down on his back with a snap-thwap and a burst of renewed pain. "Thirty one," Castiel said. Another strike. "Thirty two." Another. "Thirty three." A cut opened on thirty-four, two more on thirty-five; his tears pooled on the table on which he lay, his body twitched against his restraints at every blow, but he didn't tell her to stop as they passed forty, fifty. On some level, Castiel didn't think he'd done anything wrong. Balthazar had asked him for a drink, Castiel had suggested they go for coffee instead since Naomi had ordered him to no longer consume alcohol or take drugs, and they'd been animatedly discussing Kant and Heidegger when Naomi had come in, interrupted them, told Castiel she needed to talk to him immediately. Not ten minutes later he had been tied to the desk in her office, hard wood pressing unforgivingly against his face, his chest, his aching cock, listening to her explain with icy, contained fury that she expected him to be punctual when they had an appointment._

 _They hadn't had an appointment. He was so sure of that. He hadn't seen Balthazar outside of class in months. He'd been enjoying their time together, however brief it was._

 _They must have had an appointment. Naomi was never wrong. Castiel was such a fool. Even when he tried his hardest to be organized, he always made the most foolish mistakes. Despite detailed schedules of what was due when for his entire semester, he'd miss a critical assignment. Despite his time being carefully sectioned and organized, he'd be late to appointments. Despite trying his hardest, he'd still make a mistake._

 _Naomi always punished his mistakes._

" _Seventy!" Castiel gasped. His head was so fuzzy he could hardly feel the sharp snap of the blows, but his body still struggled against each attack and he'd ceased to be able to stop himself from reacting. Each time she hit him, he jerked, his twisted shoulders and ankles ground out blissful agony, and even with his face mashed against the desk he could make out a growing pool of his blood staining the light maple._

 _How would he know when he'd atoned enough? Strike. Her time was so valuable. Strike. Missing an appointment with her was unforgiveable. Strike. He'd have to be more careful in the future. Strike. He'd have to make sure he was available whenever she might need him. Strike. He'd have to check in with her more frequently just to be sure. Strike. It was for the better. Strike. Castiel couldn't be trusted to have a social life in addition to his studies. Strike. His friends had always led him in to trouble. Strike. That's what Naomi said. Strike. They weren't really his friends. Strike. They wanted to see him fail. Strike. Naomi would help him succeed, though. Strike. Naomi would help him be better than he'd ever thought he could be. Strike._

" _Ninety one!" The words slurred, his eyes slipped shut, and finally –_ finally _– the pain stopped._

Gasping and spluttering, Castiel came up for air, grabbing hold of the edge of the pool to keep himself from sinking beneath the surface. He'd been so lost in the rhythm of swimming that the memory had come unbidden. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to recall how much he'd trusted her, believed in her, worshipped her, even. He didn't want to remember how, when he'd woken up later alone and bloody and in agonizing pain in her office, unbound but abandoned, he'd blamed himself. _I must have been wrong, she must have been disappointed that I didn't take further punishment. How can I be what she expects me to be? I have to try harder_.

It hadn't been his fault. It _hadn't_ been. Yes, she'd helped him get clean, helped him get through college, but she'd also isolated him from his friends, forced him into numerous situations he wasn't comfortable with, and ultimately…

 _No. She didn't force me. I volunteered. I volunteered for everything she did to me. I begged her to help me. I counted ninety-one before passing out from pain and blood loss. I pushed Balthazar away afterwards, pushed everyone away. I gave up everything I had, everything I could have had, to be with her. All of it – I did_ all of it _to myself._

 _I cannot be trusted._

 _I cannot trust Dean, because I cannot trust my own assessment that Dean is trustworthy. I won't let myself repeat my mistakes. I won't fall for Naomi again._

Somewhere nearby, a bell tolled, deep notes reverberating over the otherwise quiet Dallas morning. Castiel counted the chimes along, finding peace in the concentration required to keep track.

One.

 _Dean is not Naomi._

Two.

 _But I'm still Castiel._

Three.

 _I don't need a dom._

Four.

 _But I want a dom._

Five.

 _I don't want Dean to have power over me except in scenes._

Six.

 _But if he asked for more from me, I'd give it to him._

Seven.

 _I want Dean._

Eight.

 _But I can't trust myself with Dean._

Nine.

 _I don't deserve Dean. He wants to meet me, and if I were obedient I'd say yes, but I'm scared, I'm so scared. I hate being scared all the time. I should end things. He deserves an obedient submissive, someone who trusts him, someone who is secure enough in themselves to be what he needs. But he thinks he wants me. Why does he think he wants me? Who would want a broken, disobedient sub who keeps them at arm's length?_

 _Why did Dean turn to SextersAnon to find a partner?_

 _Wait – nine?_

Startled, Castiel caught the last hints of the fading echo of the last chime and realized he had truly counted to nine. He'd completely lost track of time, swimming, remembering. His stomach rumbled pointedly and with a splash Castiel hauled himself out of the water. Their scene was supposed to start in an hour and he needed to shower, eat, and prepare himself.

God, he needed a scene, he needed to be controlled, he needed to focus on commands and nothing else until every dark voice was drowned out and there was nothing left but _Dean_.

As long as he held his desires at bay, Castiel didn't feel like this. He'd grown weak over the years, though. He'd surrendered to his urges once, and now he couldn't escape the desire to do so again and again. Addiction had always been his downfall. When he'd been young, he'd been addicted to alcohol and drugs, then to Naomi; throughout his adulthood he'd managed to function by being addicted to work.

Now, he was addicted to Dean, and it felt so good that he couldn't make himself stop.

" _It's not my fault that you're so damaged that even I can't fix you, despite all of the effort I've invested in helping you,"_ whispered Naomi's voice. _"You'll always be broken, Castiel_. _"_


	3. Chapter 3

Couple quick notes.

1\. I forgot to give thanks where thanks are due last chapter. grrlplay and WinchesterWithWings both had comments/ideas/suggestions that have had a significant impact on this story, and they deserve credit for that. :) (both are on AO3)

2\. When I first started SextersAnondotcom - heck, when I first started *this installment* of the 'verse - I didn't realize just how heavy the Castiel angst was going to be. I've added a mess of tags to better reflect that (on FF they're at the beginning of the first chapter), and I'm sorry if this story turned into something you weren't quite expecting, and understand if that means ya don't keep reading.

So. Yeah. Thanks, folks. On to the smut!

* * *

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The room was quiet and dark. Before Castiel had settled on the bed, he'd drawn the curtains and turned off the lights. In the faint glow that still permeated the room, he'd followed Dean's texted instructions, and opened the box. Within, two towels held black velvet bags in place, each bag labeled with the numbers one to ten, no indication on the outside of what was within them. Now, the towels were laid on the bed, the bags arranges before Castiel, still closed, in numerical order from his left to his right. He'd been extremely careful to minimize how long he handled each bag; Dean promised dire consequences if Castiel made any attempt to determine what was inside them. His laptop was set up before him, the desk pulled next to the bed so that Dean would have a clear view, a video chat window open. There was nothing to do now but wait. Sitting cross-legged, naked save for a thick cloth blindfold over his eyes and for the cock ring encircling his dick, Castiel focused on drawing in air, releasing it slowly, desperate for the meditative calm that obedience brought.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Castiel knew from experience that his desperation for the sensation of peace was, in itself, interfering with his ability to find peace, but he couldn't help it. Fear whispered through him. He hated thinking about Naomi. What if he had a flashback during their scenes? Why had he ever thought it a good idea to stop repressing what he'd been through? He'd not been happy for the past fifteen years, but he'd been functional.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He'd been lonely. He'd been unfulfilled. He'd been isolated. He'd longed for a partner. He'd longed to be trusted. So far from being happy, on some level, Castiel had been miserable. That's why he was doing this.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He was allowed to want this. He was allowed to enjoy this. He was allowed, for now, to have Dean. He'd enjoy it for as long as he was permitted, and accept when, inevitably, it ended.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Good morning, Cas."

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Good morning, sir."

"Are you ready?"

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Yes."

"Safe word?"

"Magnolia."

"Color?"

Breathe in. Breathe out.

 _Yellow._ "Green."

"You have three absolute order today, Cas. One: you will not remove your blindfold. Two: you will not attempt to figure out what the items we use are. Three: you will not come until I say so, and if you do not come when I tell you to, you will not come at all. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Your hands are my hands. My hands don't do anything except precisely what I tell them to do." Castiel took a moment to internalize that instruction, imagining what Dean's hands might feel like. Soft, skin smooth except for callouses at the joints caused by the weight lifting Dean must do to maintain his physique. Short nails, barely long enough to tickle and caress and tease, barely long enough to dig in and rake red lines down Castiel's back when Dean wraps his legs around Castiel's hips and urges Castiel to thrust into him faster, harder…

"We will be using the items in the bags, proceeding from one to ten. Please take up the first bag." Cock hardening, Castiel repressed a shudder of desire. The room was cool, the towels soft against his skin, the cloth over his eyes strangely heavy. Groping across the bed until his fingers found velvet, Castiel's hesitated. "Yes, that one," Dean confirmed. "Open it." Lifting the bag, Castiel was surprised by how negligible it felt, so light and so flat he could scarce believe there was anything within. He fumbled with it for nearly a minute before he figured out there was a snap holding it shut, tugged it open with a click that seemed preternaturally loud, and reached within. Questing fingers found something soft, delicate under his fingers, and as he pulled it out he realized it was a feather.

 _No, I'm not supposed to try to figure out what the items are…but it was obvious, I just knew, that has to be okay, right? Dean couldn't get mad about that, right? Why do I persist in thinking this way? Dean has never gotten mad at me for something I couldn't help. Dean is not Naomi. Dean doesn't pretend he can read my mind and doesn't expect me to be able to read his and…_

"…listening, Cas?" Dean's voice interrupted his train of thought sharply. Castiel grimaced.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"I'll let you have that one, Cas, but next time your attention wanders…" Dean allowed the threat to trail off ominously.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"I understand," Castiel said. "What do you wish me to do with your hands, sir?"

"Brush what you are holding over your arm," Dean instructed. His voice was soft, steady, calm, soothing.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Mind emptying, Castiel was grateful when his anxiety ebbed in the wake of obedience. The feather was unnaturally gentle – it occurred to Castiel idly that it must be fake – and his flesh tingled as Castiel trailed the fronds over his skin, reveled in the delicate feel of it against his underarm and the sensitive joint of his elbow. A shiver ran through him, coursed up his shoulder, down his spine, reverberated through his legs, as if the merest tickle against his arm was the same as having feathers brushing him everywhere.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"On up your shoulder," continued Dean. "Across your chest."

 _Dean's hands on my body – his fingers on my skin – digging bruises in, scraping me, marking me, owning me…God, I want him, I want him so much I can hardly stand it._

"Down your side."

 _I could have him. Even just once, I could, all I have to do is say the word and…_

"Circle your belly."

… _no, I can't. I can't. I can have this, though. It's enough. It has to be enough. I don't dare have more._

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Uncross your legs, Cas – leave 'um spread so I can see – good, now drag it along the inside of each of your thighs." It felt nice, remarkably so, and Castiel was surprised when the urge to moan came on him from nowhere. "Do it again." Castiel repressed the noise – he could control himself, he had to – but he couldn't stop his cock from twitching and leaking, drops falling hot on his belly, dripping down to dampen his pubic hair. The bristles of the feather trailed through a wet spot and dragged moisture over his leg. "Again." A third time over the same sensitive flesh had Castiel's thoughts suddenly, powerfully clamoring for a more assertive touch. "Again." His other hand – _Dean's other hand_ – spasmed where it lay idle at his side, fingers involuntarily clutching at the towels. "Again." The room wasn't cold, but Castiel shivered irrepressibly, mouth hanging open as he forced himself to maintain the appearance of calm. "Again."

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Again."

Time, endless in the darkness, stretched out as Dean had Castiel repeat the caress to his thighs over and over. Whimpers bubbled in his chest, his thoughts whispered the need to beg for more – for a strong touch, for fingers digging bruisingly into his flesh, for a hand to stroke his cock.

The cock ring began to vibrate. Castiel gasped, eyes flying open though he could see nothing through the blindfold. His cock bucked violently, his balls seized, and shockingly, Castiel hovered at the edge of orgasm, frantically trying to hold himself back. Dean chuckled.

"Again."

Ragged pants broke the steady rhythmic breathing Castiel had maintained since the beginning of the scene. The shiver of touch over his body amplified; Castiel felt like electricity coursed through his body, sharp and hot and so strong his teeth chattered. A flash of memory triggered, how it had felt to have a cattle prod pressed to his skin and turned on, and he gasped again loudly, back arching at the remembered sensation. Settling back on his ass, a whimper escaped Castiel but he had to obey, had to behave, and he went to run the feather over his thighs once more when he realized that Dean hadn't said _again_ , hadn't said _anything_ , and he dropped his hand to his side. The thrum of the ring against the base of his cock continued, buzzing through him, until it stopped suddenly. Slumping, Castiel gulped in air as his overwrought body tried to process what it was like to feel no stimulation.

"What'd you think of, Cas? I know something passed through that pretty little head of yours." Rich pleasure suffused Dean's voice, spreading a flush of happy warmth down Castiel's chest as he tried to get his breathing under control. Dean was pleased with him.

"It felt like a shock, sir," Castiel explained, voice breathier than he expected.

"That a good thing?" asked Dean.

"Yes," Castiel said. _Mostly_.

"Excellent," Dean said. "You take a moment and catch your breath, keep your hands by your sides." Peace returned easily and quickly, Castiel's arousal fading to a manageable level. It felt like no time at all before Dean continued, "Set aside what you are holding and open the second bag."

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Castiel never did figure out what was in the second bag. It was cylindrical and prickly, layer upon layer of something woody, smooth beneath his fingers if he stroked in one direction but coarse and jagged when he stroked it from another. Dean delighted in exploiting the two different textures; he had Castiel rub whatever it was over his skin, over his nipples until they were painfully tight nubs begging to be tweaked, had Castiel align the thing with his cock and stroke – painfully abrasive on the upstroke, wonderful stimulating on the down. Even with the cock ring deactivated, Castiel once again hovered on the edge of coming embarrassingly quickly, every breath tinged with noise, blindfold slowly growing wet with the tears that leaked from the corners of his eyes. When Castiel thought he couldn't possibly take more, Dean somehow realized Castiel was at his limit and he told Castiel to stop and set whatever it was aside.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The third bag contained something metallic and coarse that smelled strongly of detergent and rubbed Castiel's skin raw everywhere they applied it. The harder Dean had Castiel rub it on his skin, the more Dean upped the vibration on the cock ring, until Castiel abraded himself painfully to the accompaniment of pleasure so powerful it whited out his vision. They'd taken minutes to cool down after the last session, but once again Castiel stood on the brink. When he feared he was on the verge of breaking, Dean had him reach behind himself and run the object over his hole once, hard, and Castiel groaned low and deep for the first time since they'd started. His hips jerked uncontrollably, earning him a sharp rebuke that only served to push him closer to the edge. Blindfolded, he couldn't be sure, but he was pretty sure he was bleeding in a few places on his arms and chest; it was either blood or sweat or both that made cold trails down his skin. The ring stopped suddenly before Dean told Castiel to stop scouring his flesh and he sobbed back an orgasm by the skin of his teeth.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The bag itself was the fourth item. Dean had Castiel turn it inside out, and every place where Castiel was scraped and torn from the previous item, Dean caressed with velvet. Running the fabric over the aching spots sparked simultaneous pain and pleasure; on top of the stimulation of the first few items, Castiel was close even before Dean ordered him to wrap the bag around his cock and masturbate. Listening to Dean no longer helped Castiel keep calm; the arousal in Dean's breathy instructions was too evident to be ignored. Knowing the effect his obedience was having on Dean was heady, and what little independent thought Castiel had left faded away. There was nothing but Dean's voice, Dean's satisfaction, and Dean's hands driving him to the edge of orgasm and madness over and over again only to ease him back down.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Thus far, every item had worked well, the time Dean gave Castiel in between opening each essential for him to keep cool even as being driven to the edge repeatedly slowly drove him wild. The next proved too complicated for Castiel, blindfolded, hands shaking with arousal, to operate. It was some kind of aerosol can, he thought, but despite Dean's increasingly frustrated instructions Castiel could not get it to do whatever it was supposed to do.

"That's okay, Cas." Dean didn't sound like he meant it. There was a dark promise in his deep voice, a laugh that was definitely at Castiel's expense. "You'll make it up to me. You be good now, you hear?"

Nodding, Castiel grimaced. He wanted to be good. He _had_ to be good. How could he have screwed up something as simple as a spray bottle? Dean must be angry with him, even though he didn't sound angry. Dean must be…

Breathe in. Breathe out.

There was no mistaking the next object for anything other than what it was: a heavy, rubbery-smelling roll of duct tape, slightly ridged under Castiel's fingers. His heart rate jumped, his cock twitched and spurted thin pre-come and he bit his lip against an embarrassing whimper. This was a toy he'd played with before, and he knew exactly how it felt to have tape placed over his mouth and then torn off abruptly. He'd come once screaming when Naomi had done that. _No, don't think about her, she's gone, I'm with Dean now, I belong to Dean now_.

"You ready, Cas?"

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Yes, sir."

"Tear off a short piece – 'bout as long as your finger – and place it on your forearm." Castiel followed Dean's instructions, pausing for an approving sound before slapping the tape against his flesh. "Tear off another, this one is going on your right leg just below the knee." So it went, strips of tape decorating Castiel's arms, his legs, one on his cheek, another over an already-abused nipple, several on his thighs, one slapped hard directly over his hole, in a pattern that he suspected was aesthetically pleasing to Dean, judging by the encouraging timbre of Dean's voice. Each additional piece burned anticipation through Castiel. He wasn't sure what was coming, but the longer Dean spent decorating Castiel, the more Castiel wondered, the more he wanted. Whatever it was would hurt. It was punishment, after all.

 _What might he have done with the tape if I'd behaved?_

"Beautiful, Cas," murmured Dean eventually. "As always, you are so fucking beautiful. Rip off the one on your cheek." There was no longer any thought behind obedience, no hesitation, no concern that tearing the duct tape from his flesh would hurt. Castiel dug a nail under the corner and tugged hard. Adhesive caught on stubble and he gasped as pain flashed bright over his darkened vision. "The one on your forearm." The first piece was still stuck to his fingers, but Castiel didn't pause, he grasped the second and tore it away, ripping out hair and stretching his flesh. "The one below your knee." That one had been placed directly over a place he'd previously abraded, and Castiel felt new-formed scabs tear away when he pulled the tape off. A bead of blood flowed down his skin. Dean had him strip away another, and another, until Castiel wept with it, his hand shaking with the effort of continuing.

"Take off the one on your nipple, Cas," Dean ordered, tone growing harsh as Castiel took longer to respond. " _Now_." Trembling, Castiel moved to obey. He was no longer sure how many remained, though the one over his hole was still in place, and as he bared his nipple he cried out in mingled pleasure and pain as the cock ring kicked on at a high setting. It was all Castiel could do not to collapse against the bed. His back ached from the strain of sitting upright, his body was tight and hot, so hot, and he'd been hard for so long. He had no idea how much time had passed but he knew it had been long, too long.

"Let's open up that asshole, shall we?" Dean suggested with deceptive mildness. Hardly able to control his fingers, Castiel reached behind himself, trying desperately to prepare for how it was going to feel. _It will hurt, it'll tear out my hairs, it will feel good, it'll feel so damn amazing, damn, damn, damn, damn…_

"Quit stalling," snapped Dean.

Castiel tore the duct tape free, pain jolting a groan from him, searing into pleasure that twisted his gut. "Please," he gasped.

"What was that, Thursday?" There was a taunting edge to Dean's voice that told Castiel that Dean knew _exactly_ what Castiel had said.

"Please, sir," he repeated. "Please, I—" Castiel bit the words back, teeth digging into his cheek hard enough to draw blood. _I need, I want, but I can't make demands, it's not my place. I am a tool to be used and discarded. All that is required is my self-control and obedience, and I'm failing, I'm failing right now, and I can't._

"Being so good for me," said Dean soothingly. Castiel shocked himself with a sob that burst out uncontrollably. He'd needed to hear that, he had no idea how much he needed to hear that. The cock ring shut off and Castiel sobbed again. He knew what that meant. He wasn't permitted to come yet. "More than half way there, Cas, you still with me?"

"Sir, I – I don't know if I can—" Admitting his inadequacy hurt as badly as tearing the duct tape from his ass had. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I can't—"

"You can," Dean said, voice gentle. "What's your color?"

"Yel-yellow." He couldn't stop crying. He was going to come before Dean instructed him to. He was going to fail, he was sure he was going to fail, and it felt awful.

" 'K, that's okay, Cas, listen to me – you listening?"

"Yes, sir."

"We're gonna take a few minutes for you to calm down, and we'll see how you feel then," Dean continued. _So kind, so good to me, so much better to me than I deserve. He still hasn't learned that the only way to force me to comply is to punish me._ "Can you focus on my voice?" _I'm a bad sub – defiant, recalcitrant,_ naughty _. Naomi knew. Naomi would have punished me for begging so soon. Even all these years later, Naomi would punish me for leaving her. Just like she should_. _Just like Dean should. If he punished me enough, I'd concede to anything. If he punished me enough, I could become what he wants, I know I could. I want to be what Dean wants. Wait. Not 'what.' Who. I'm a person, not a thing._ "Asked you a question, Cas!"

 _I'm a person_ and _a thing._

"I'm sorry, I don't…I can't…"

 _Use me._

"What's your safe word, Cas?"

 _I'm fine. I can take it. Whatever it is, I can take it. He thinks I'm too weak, just like Naomi thought I was weak. I have to be stronger. I have to improve my control._

"Magnolia," he whispered. Even admitting the word aloud was shaming.

 _Punish me. I'll be good._

"Do you need to use it?"

 _Please, Dean, stop talking._

"No!" _Never_. "Please, sir, I'm sorry. I can finish. I can do the remaining bags. I _can_."

 _Speaking is too hard. Being me is too hard. I can't be me right now, or ever. I am your hands, your sub, yours. Use me!_

There was an agonizing delay, then— "Cas, you know I won't be upset with you if you need to end a scene, right?"

 _You say that, but I can't know until I try. I never want to have to try. I want to be whatever you need me to be. Stop treating me like a person. I'm a thing. I'm your thing._

"You must understand that," Dean insisted into the silence that followed his words. "Using a safe word is about self-protection, no self-respecting dom would ever – _I_ would never punish you if you needed to opt out."

 _I'm crashing, I'm crashing hard, I can't do this, I can't do this now, I felt so good, please, we have to continue, how can I make him continue?_

"I understand," Castiel said. _Even if I don't believe you. Why don't I believe you?_ "I'm ready to continue."

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Glad to hear it, but I still need a few minutes," Dean said.

"Of course, sir." _Good, I sound calm. I sound in control. It doesn't matter if I can't do this, I have to. I have to try_.

"Charlie and I spent weeks talkin' this scene over," Dean spoke softly. "She's doing this with Gilda today, too, and then she'll look after both of you tonight. Talked over every item, considered ways to use 'um, she's gonna want to hear all about what you thought. Thinks she might be able to sell them."

"She mentioned that to me, sir," said Castiel.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"It's an awesome idea," Dean continued. "She offered me a cut of the profits, but I don't need the money. We had all kinds of ideas for other items that I'd love to try. S'more fun to be on the testing end of things, don't you think?"

"Whatever you'd like, sir."

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Serenity slowly returned. The break was essential; if they'd tried to continue immediately, Castiel wouldn't have been able to hold on, but listening to Dean provided essential equilibrium. _I can be good for him. I can be whatever he needs me to be for as long as he needs me to be it._

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Good, Cas, that's good," murmured Dean. "You're always such a damn good boy for me. Look so pretty right now, too, wish I could take a picture. Ready?"

"Please, sir, I want to continue."

"Pick up the next bag."

Despite his veneer of steadiness, Castiel's hand shook as he reached before him and took up the next bag. It was heavy, and when he reached within he touched the smooth plastic of a bottle.

"Find the top of the bottle, Cas," Dean ordered. Castiel fumbled until he found the flip lid, determined not to botch this item as he'd botched the can. It had to be lube, he thought. "Open it and pour some into your hand." More fumbling, and then Castiel upended the bottle. Nothing flowed out; he had to squeeze it before the thick contents flowed. Whatever it was poured viscously into his palm, cool as the room was cool. "That's enough. Not gonna step-by-step this one for you. It's pretty straight forward. Get on your knees and turn so I can see your backside and use what's in your palm to finger yourself open for me."

"Yes, sir," said Castiel. Shifting, he got his knees under him and pivoted so that Dean could see his ass, setting the bottle aside once he was in position. Part of Castiel still thought it was lube, pooling and warming against his skin, but there was a sugary smell and a stickiness to it that made him doubt. Coating a finger, he reached behind himself and penetrated himself with a single sharp thrust. His flagging erection throbbed and swelled once more as pleasure tingled outward. He wasn't sure if Dean wanted him to finger-fuck himself or prepare himself for penetration. Anything could be awaiting him in the next bag. Anticipation enhanced every feeling, the stretch and burn of his own inadequate ability to fill himself amplified by desire and by indistinct encouragement from Dean. The lubricant grew thinner as it warmed; he withdrew from himself, applied more to his fingers, and tugged himself open to squeeze two fingers within.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Every muscle relaxed and Castiel thrust into himself as hard as he could. Long practice meant he could get his fingers in deep, dig them in hard, and the lubricant smoothed things enough that his fingers slid easily yet was sticky enough to provide a friction he wasn't used to. His chest pulsed with panting breaths as he worked, cock starting to leak again as heat burgeoned outward. Without pausing, he added a third finger, sharp pain accompanying the first thrust as he didn't bother to wait for his body to give. A soft moan escaped his control.

"Just like that," Dean murmured. "Fuck yourself harder – yeah, perfect, always fucking perfect. I can imagine you doing that to me. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Very much, sir," he gasped.

"Let you get me all sticky and ready for that fat, desperate cock of yours." Dean's voice sounded vague with arousal, and Castiel bit back a guttural groan imagining what Dean might be doing to himself that made him sound that way. The groan burst free as the vibration kicked on around Castiel's cock. "Shove you down and ride you 'til you beg, Thursday, shut that pretty mouth up by shoving my fingers down your throat. Make you lick it clean when you're done, kiss your fuckin' mouth red so I can taste it to. Let's see those fingers of yours, bet you've gotten them good and messy. Give yourself a taste, Cas."

 _No!_

" _Yellow_!" Castiel gasped.

 _I can't do that, it's gross, I'm not cleaned up at all and my fingers were in my ass and – no, he'll punish me, Naomi punished me, I have to obey, have to—_

Shaking like he was caught in a gale, Castiel forced himself to move, forced himself to bring his hand up and towards his mouth.

 _No no no nononononono…_

"Stop, Cas!" Dean barked sharply. Castiel froze, outstretched fingers inches from his mouth. This close, he could smell the sweetness of the unknown lubricant, combined nauseatingly with the smell of inside Castiel's ass. His stomach heaved, churning bile into his throat. "Move your hand away; lick your other palm."

 _No, that's not right. I'm not weak. I have self-control. I can follow the original order, I can, I have to._

His hand crept closer to his mouth.

 _Don't I?_

" _Now Cas_."

Mortifyingly relieved, Castiel dropped the hand he'd used to work himself open and raised the other, still pooled with a liquid. One of the fingers he'd used on himself had been dipped into his palm after it had been within him, but that didn't scare and disgust him nearly as much, and he tentatively licked the edge of the liquid. Something thick and sweet and delicious hit his tongue, a moan of relief bubbling from him. He still wasn't sure what it was, but it wasn't revolting, it was good, Castiel was good, Dean was good to him, so good to him.

"Color?" asked Dean.

"Green," he sighed out, lapping at the lubricant. Musky sweetness spread through his mouth, permeated his sense of smell. Flickers of fear threatened his serenity, though. There would be consequences because he balked. There were always consequences.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Get that hand good and clean for me, Cas – keep fingering yourself with the other." Dean didn't sound angry. He didn't sound any different than he had before – turned on and breathy. "Yeah, just like that," he added encouragingly as Castiel reached around to his backside. His fingers slipped easily into himself, slick and hot, pleasure building once more, and the cock ring amped up to a higher intensity. The longer they went without Dean administering punishment, the more eased and blissed out Castiel felt, though lingering doubt remained. Punishment, after all, was most effective when it was least expected. Naomi hadn't always punished him immediately, but there had always been discipline in the end.

 _Dean is not Naomi_.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

In increasingly comfortable silence, Castiel thrust in and out of himself. He carefully avoided his prostate, fearful of over-stimulating himself and accidentally coming. Dean said nothing, though Castiel's breaths became increasingly vocal, bright arousal flaring across his blocked vision, his hand aching from the effort. The cock ring ramped up again, faded, and increased once more, intensifying and ebbing like waves coming in and flowing out, again and again, drawing a long, base moan from Castiel. He longed to thrust his hips back against his hand, to find his prostate and chase his release.

"I'd love to fuck you senseless in that pretty hole you opened up for me," whispered Dean, gravel and sex in his voice. He was close too, he must be, to sound like that. "Come inside you, get you even more filthy than you already are. If you were real good and didn't come even as I…" Dean trailed off and the cock ring vibrated at the highest setting; Castiel curled in on himself and groaned, using all his willpower to keep from coming, keep from taking a hold of his cock in his free hand and stroking himself to insanity. "…I might let you finish up inside me."

Castiel could see it, vivid as if his eyes were opened. He could feel it. He could imagine the musky way Dean would smell, the way Dean would squeeze around him, the way Dean's skin would feel rubbing against his own.

"Please, sir," he whispered desperately, fingering himself harder, straining to reach his prostate. Dean hadn't told him to do so, but Dean also hadn't told him not to.

"What do you want, Cas?" asked Dean.

"Want to…" Castiel finally found the sensitive nub and he instantly regretted it, moaning and straining to hold himself back from coming. The blindfold was meaningless; his vision was bright as sunshine, golden as Dean's gorgeous skin, hair, his entire gleaming presence. "Want to…" _Want to be inside you, want you to hold me down and take what you want, anything you want, until you come crying my name, want to feel your hands on my body and your lips on my mouth and your cock inside me and I want to come inside you, want to sob as I do it, want…_ "Want you, please, want _you_ , sir, please, please, _please_ I have to come, I have to, I can't…"

"Not yet." Castiel could hear the smile in Dean's voice, his arousal. A sob burst out from him, he wanted to brush his prostate again and again but he didn't dare. _Please, Dean_ , he mouthed, but he kept the words back. It took all his willpower to restrain himself. "Take the next bag, Cas."

Weeping steadily, the blindfold clinging soddenly to his face, Castiel stopped working himself open, groped with his filthy hand across the towels, feeling for the next bag. "There you go," encouraged Dean as Castiel found it. Yanking it open with all the desperation he felt, his head full of the buzzing of the cock ring and the echoing vibration screaming through his body, Castiel reached within and found a plastic bag. Confused, he withdrew it; it sloshed as if there was water inside. "Take it in both hands, squeeze it – harder, Cas." Dean's voice grew approving when Castiel gasped and the plastic bag snapped in his hand and cooled dramatically. "That hole of yours looks a bit red and puffy and stretched. Let's soothe it, shall we?" Castiel moaned at the thought, unable to bring himself to move without a direct order. "Put the ice pack between your ass cheeks, Cas, right over that gorgeous pucker." Moaning again, Castiel obeyed. Against his heated flesh the ice pack felt frigid, driving shivers through his entire body. His balls brushed against the chill, seized, he gasped and choked. In other circumstances, the cold might have pushed his climax back, helped him find control, but he was too gone now. _Any_ sensation was good sensation.

"Sir!" he gasped desperately. Resting back on his heels, he couldn't stop himself from rutting against the cold pack, desperate for any pressure against his ass since he couldn't touch his throbbing, leaking cock.

"Pretty as a picture, Cas," murmured Dean. "Gorgeous as always. How're you fricken real?" Castiel's hands shook with the effort of holding them at his sides, his body moved outside of his control, his thoughts screamed begging that he had no idea if he spoke aloud.

Seconds stretched out like eternity. Heart racing, chest heaving, hips moving despite every attempt to hold them still, nails digging into palms and sparking pain and pleasure somehow above and beyond the flood of feelings threatening to drown him, Castiel used every ounce of self-control he had remaining to keep himself from his climax.

 _Need to come, need to come, please, please, please, please, please say the words, can't hold on, please, please…_

"Come for me, Cas."

That Dean would relent was so unbelievable that Castiel thought that, in his desperation, he'd imagined finally receiving permission. He wailed, unable not to express in _some_ way how agonizing waiting was.

" _Cas_ ," Dean snapped warningly. "Remember what I said? If you don't come when I say, you won't come at all. Now, Cas. _Right now_."

Howling, he let himself go. His cock spewed release untouched and collapsed against the mattress, writhing against the blankets as he chased the touch he didn't dare allow himself. Dean hadn't said to touch himself. Cas' hands – _Dean's hands_ – only did what Dean told them to. The cold speared through his ass, his insides molten with heat, his head pounding in time to his heartbeat, and he gasped as a second surge washed over him, a third, cock leaking, eyes dripping, saliva oozing out the corner of his slackened mouth as gasped for breath.

Dean was speaking, but Castiel couldn't hold on to awareness well enough to decipher the words. Pleasure surged through him again and he whimpered, slumping limply, and struggled to make out what Dean said. "…next bag," Dean ordered firmly. "Open the next bag, Cas!" Right, Castiel had forgotten, had lost count, but there were more bags. Forcing a weak arm to move, he flailed, struggling to get his fingers to obey. "Forward six inches…to your left…" Dean guided him and Castiel, grateful, did as directed until his hand found velvet. "Hold the bag and squeeze it to activate the contents." _Another cold pack. Oh, God, what…?_ Unable to do anything but heed Dean's commands, Castiel did so. He couldn't feel the cold. He couldn't feel anything but the tingling pleasure suffusing him. "Shove your cock in there." _That_ , Castiel knew, he'd feel. Dreading the burst of cold, nonetheless Castiel whimpered as he found the bag opening and, with difficulty, slipped his cock within. Heat flooded him, unbearable and stimulating and soothing, an unbelievable contrast to the cold pack still wedged over his ass. "Jack off, Cas." Moaning pitifully, Castiel did so, he felt so good, so good he couldn't stand it. "Harder, boy." Sobs wracked him as every stroke. His hand worked as fast and powerful as he could manage, jolted bliss through his over-stimulated body, caused his spent cock to twitch and dribble more come.

Over the sound of his own panting, Castiel could make out Dean's heavy breathing. "Good boy," whispered Dean, voice low and thick. "Such a good – fucking – boy for me, only for me, fuck, if I had you here right now I'd stand over you, rip that fucking mask off your face, let you watch as I come all over your fucking face, yeah, fuck, mark you up so nice, Cas, take a picture of _that_ , let _that_ be the only shot I show other people, the absolute fucking proof that you're _mine_ , _my boy_ , _my Cas_." Dean groaned and Castiel echoed him. He wanted what Dean was saying, he wanted everything Dean promised.

He wanted to meet Dean.

"Make you clean it all up while I keep pumping that aching cock, drink me down, drink your own down, mix in a little of that caramel sauce to sweeten the pot…" Dean trailed off, panting.

"Please," Castiel whispered. His throat was aching and dry, his voice shattered.

"What – what do you want, you fucking perfect little fuck toy?"

Shuddering and stuttering, Castiel continued to stroke his softening cock. "May I watch you come, sir?"

"Sure, Thursday," said Dean approvingly. "Take your mask off."

His arm wouldn't move. It took far too long for his sluggish, pleasure-swamped mind to process that it was because he was lying atop it. Flopping over, still stroking his cock as best he could with the other hand, Castiel slid the wet fabric off his face. His eyes were gross with tears, his vision blurry as he opened them, but he could make out enough of the screen to see Dean, fully dressed in a dark top and jeans, his cock sticking out from his unzipped fly, stroking himself. Dean's eyes watched Castiel hungrily, mouth hanging open, and his lips move as if he spoke though nothing audible came through the webfeed.

"So beautiful, sir," Castiel whispered. Dean groaned again and the first thick rope of come spurted from his cock, hitting his hand. "Want you so much."

"Me too…" Dean grunted and moaned through his climax. "Fuck, I want you Cas. Please – please let me have you."

"I want to…I do…"

There was some reason they couldn't meet, but Castiel couldn't put his finger on it.

 _Dean called me his. Dean wants to mark me up. Dean called me his boy, called me his toy. Why am I so certain that Dean isn't Naomi?_

 _That's why we can't meet_. _I knew there was a reason._

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Open the last bag, Cas." There was sadness in Dean's voice, distance in his expression. "You may stop stroking yourself." With a grateful shudder, Castiel removed the velvet bag with the heated pack from around his sore cock. Reaching out with both hands, he grasped the final bag, opened it, and felt within. The contents were soft, smooth, wonderfully delicate under his fingers. Grabbing hold, he withdrew a large swath of cloth, slightly shimmery. "We're done, Cas. Wrap that around yourself and get some rest. I've set an alarm for when you'll need to get up to prepare for Charlie's, and I'll help you get through your shower and getting dressed. If you want me to, I mean."

The cloth – silk, Castiel thought – felt exquisite against his over-sensitized skin. Castiel happily wrapped it around himself, moving as little as possible, purposefully oblivious to the mess he'd made, the blood and sweat and caramel sauce and come soiling the towels protecting the bedspread from his filth. He wished he could be equally oblivious to the unhappiness evident in Dean's voice and on his face.

"Thank you, Dean," he murmured with all the sincerity he could muster. "That was wonderful. You know I think you're wonderful, don't you?"

To Castiel's delight, Dean's expression brightened. "I, uh, no…I didn't…I mean, I try to be what you need, and I hoped…" Dean trailed off, cheeks

"You are." Fatigue and the dimming glow of euphoria slurred Castiel's words as he started to slip into sleep. "You're what I need."

"Sleep well, Cas."

Breathe in. Breathe out.

* * *

"So, not a fan of the compressed air?" Charlie spoke around a pen cap caught between her teeth, taking illegible notes long hand on an iPad that converted them to letters instantly. They were sitting around her comfortable living room, plates from their meal sitting on the coffee table. Gilda and Charlie lounged together on the plush deep blue couch; Castiel stretched out on the loveseat, feet dangling over one arm rest, a heating pad against the ache in his back caused by sitting up straight so long.

"I couldn't figure out how to work it," Castiel admitted, embarrassed. Once he'd woken up and assessed the mess that was his room he'd been able to put a name to the unknown objects – a pine cone, a steel wool pad, a can of compressed air, a tube of caramel sauce. He'd gathered up everything, wrapped them in the soiled towels and shoved it all back in the box. Dean's phone call had been late; there had been ten minutes between when the alarm had gone off and when Dean had contacted him, and even that brief time had been enough for Castiel to start crashing. It was impossible to keep his spirits up, faced with the smears of blood all over the towels, all over his body, the thick come dried gross in his pubes and on the lovely length of red silk in which he was wrapped. During the scene, he'd begged for Dean, begged for Dean's physical presence, and it was mortifying. Having to clean up the soiled reminders of everything he'd said and done was mortifying. Even Dean's kind words as he talked Castiel through cleaning and showering and dressing and taking a taxi to Charlie's hadn't been able to break through Castiel's unhappiness.

"Too bad," Charlie sighed.

"I thought it was very nice," offered Gilda reassuringly. "Maybe include it in the regular version but not in the long-distance version of the box?"

"That'd make sense," Charlie nodded, making another note. Capping the pen, she rolled her neck, set the iPad down on the table, and leaned back, stretching her arms out with a yawn. "Have you thought about that, Cas?"

"About what?" he asked blankly.

"Not being in the long distance version of your box?" Charlie supplied. Castiel blinked at her, quirking his head to one side.

"Have you thought about meeting Dean in person?" Gilda clarified.

"Of course I have," snapped Castiel. He didn't want to think about it. He was tired, so tired, of the endlessly circling thoughts that told him that, on the one hand, Dean wanted to meet and Castiel should obey, and on the other hand that Castiel might be wrong about Dean, that meeting Dean would only serve to prove what a disappointing failure Castiel was.

"And…?"

"And it's none of your business," Castiel said harshly. "He and I have spoken about this and he understands my situation."

"No, he doesn't," said Charlie. "You're right, it's none of my business, but have you considered _telling him_ whatever is holding you back? Like, I get that the whole 'meeting someone from the internet' thing can be kinda really fucking freaky but you've already met us and you seem to think we're not crazy and we know Dean and can vouch for him and yet…?" Castiel scowled discouragingly. He didn't want to have this conversation, not as part of his aftercare for the earlier scene, not at all.

 _Dirty, twisted, disgusting, filthy, disobedient, broken…_

"Cas—" Charlie pressed, an avid expression on her face.

"Stop." Shocked, Castiel stared amazement at Gilda. She'd never looked more beautiful, her frizzy brown hair catching the light like a halo, her eyes fierce. _She's talking back to Charlie. She's talking back to her dom._ "Even if it were appropriate for you to press Cas on this topic – which it's not, love – post-scene is not the time to do it."

 _Why is it that no matter how much I read about safe, sane and consensual practice on the internet, I'm still surprised at moments like this?_

Charlie pouted. "I'm just trying to help Dean!"

 _Even though I know better – I should know better – I cannot believe that Charlie isn't immediately punishing Gilda for her defiance. Naomi would have had my pants around my ankles and a cane whipping my backside before I could find the words to beg her not to, regardless of whether company was present._ Especially _if that company knew she was a dom and I was her sub._

"I know you are." Gilda's tone grew gentle, her smile warm, but there was still backbone to her words, and Charlie didn't challenge her or call her to task. "But it's not for us to force Cas' confidence any more than it's appropriate for Dean to do so. Cas – you take care of you – figure out what's best for you and do that."

 _That I can't internalize the simple truth that Naomi was not like other doms, that Naomi's approach to kink was not sane, safe or consensual, that Dean's practice_ is _, or at least appears to be…that's how I'm broken. That's why I can't get past this. Because some doms are like Naomi – all her friends were like her – and some doms are like Charlie, and there's absolutely no way to know which is which until it's too late. How can I know which Dean is? Is Dean Naomi, or is Dean Charlie, or is Dean…Dean? I don't know and I'm too afraid to find out._

"Thank you, Gilda," he said softly, awed at her strength. _That's what a submissive is supposed to be like. Powerful, confident, in control, yet pliable to the will of their dom. Sure of themselves, not broken. No amount of training could make me like Gilda. I wonder what Dean could do with a submissive like her._ A memory of the images of Gilda bound in ropes came to him. _I wonder what Naomi could have done with a submissive like her._ Both women stared at him. _No, I wouldn't wish that on anyone, not my worst enemy, much less sweet, lovely Gilda…well, I might wish Naomi on Naomi, but that's impossible._ "I don't know how to do that." At their blank looks, he added, "I don't know what's best for me." They watched him patiently, matched open-eyed, clear gazes as if they expected him to say more. Grimacing, he poked at one of the bandages Charlie had placed over the abraded wounds caused by the steel wool. Flickers of pain dulled his embarrassment, punished him for his errant thoughts. _I could tell them…_

… _and reveal just how broken I am? How inadequate I am compared to someone like Gilda? Why would I do that?_

"Well…" Charlie spoke hesitantly when she finally broke the silence. It was the least cheery Castiel had ever heard her sound. "So…do you think Dean knows what's best for you?" _God, do I think that? Yes, yes I do...is that why I'm so frightened? Because I suspect that's what best for me is the harsh discipline that Naomi enacted, and the more of me Dean sees, the more he'll realize that and begin to treat me the same? Do I really think Dean would do that to me?_ "If you don't know, how can you expect anyone else to know?"

 _What's best for me is that I quit BDSM completely, that I accept that some desires were never meant to be fulfilled. But I'm too weak to do that._

Castiel shrugged and turned away.

"Cas—"

"Charlie," Gilda interrupted warningly.

"I'm just gonna say this, and then I'm done," promised Charlie. "I'm a dom – you know I'm a dom – and you see how I am with Gilda. We talk about _everything_. She's been in some rough places in the past. She had a dom who treated her terribly, captured her, forced her to do things she didn't want to do. At first, she didn't want to communicate with me about that, but we worked it out. Dean isn't some all-knowing embodiment of perfection, Cas. He's not an ideal dom In fact, he's kind of an ass sometimes. But he's a good man, knowledgeable in practice, and he's willing to learn. When he fucks up – which he does sometimes, he's only human – he does his best to fix it." Ashamed, Castiel turned further towards the couch, pressing his face into the soft cushion. He didn't want to listen to this, didn't want to consider Dean as a _person_. The possibilities it opened were too terrifying. If Dean was a person, Castiel might have a real relationship with him. _If Dean is a person, than Naomi wasn't just my dom, wasn't just my professor, she was also a person – all the other doms she brought in were also people – they were people who chose to do those things to me, and I agreed to it._ Tears beaded in the corners of his eyes as fragments of horrible memories came and went from his mind's eye. "He can't read your mind." _Thank God._ "He can't work miracles." _Even if he could he couldn't fix me._ "He can't help you through whatever is troubling you unless you talk to him about it." _He can't help me anyway, because I won't let him._ "He's had some rough times, too, but he really likes you and he wants to try." _I don't dare try._ "Only…yeah, I dunno…I mean…just…if you want to be with him, if you think being with Dean is what is best for you, you gotta figure out how to meet him halfway, ya know? All he wants is to be able to take care of you. Is that what _you_ want, Cas?"

 _Yes._

 _But what if…_

"I can't do this, Charlie," he said, a pleading note he hated in his voice. "Please…"

"But—"

"I think it's time for you to go, Charlie." Gilda was gentle but unequivocal. Castiel pressed his face harder into the cushions. His deficiencies were putting a strain on Charlie and Gilda's relationship. He heard Charlie sigh, listened to the sounds of creaking floor boards and rustling cloth as she rose and left the room, flinched at the soft clatter of a door closing. "Cas…Cas, may I come over there? May I touch you?"

"Yes," he mumbled, dreading her doing so. The sounds of movement warned him of her approach but nonetheless he started when her soft, cool hand touched the skin of his neck.

"Charlie means well," she said. As she spoke, she shifted and moved, found space for her slim form on the couch alongside Castiel. He shuddered into the contact, simultaneously convinced that he didn't deserve it but that he wanted it, needed it, couldn't possibly suggest that she stop. "Dean is our friend and we're worried about him. However, I'm more worried about you. If you need out – if you need time – I'll help you."

"Gilda…I…" Castiel's voice broke. If he tried to continue, he'd break down and cry.

 _When did I lose all control of myself? When did I become this pathetic? I thought my 15 years alone had made me stronger. I even dared to think my time with Naomi had made me stronger. Clearly, I was wrong, so wrong, always wrong._

"Shh," she whispered. "You don't have to say anything. I'm not going anywhere." Suiting action to word, she curled up more closely against his side, wrapped one arm around his waist, used the other to soothingly card through his hair.

 _I'm terrible for Dean. And he's terrible for me. I'm sick – the way I feel now is a sickness – but I'm too afraid of the treatment plan to enact it._

Silently, Castiel wept, his tears soaked into the fabric of the sofa. Gilda held him, murmuring soft reassurance – "it's alright to cry, it's alright to hurt, it's alright to be unsure, you're alright, Cas, whatever you're feeling is alright" – until he fell into fitful sleep.

* * *

FYI, this chapter only came out so quickly because I had most of it already written (the entire first draft of the smut was finished, I only had to edit it and then write and edit the scene with Charlie). The next chapter is NOT mostly written; further, I usually get a pile of writing done at work on Saturday, but I have Saturday off this week to go to a thing with my family, so chances are the next chapter won't be up until the middle of next week (Wednesday or Thursday, possibly even Friday). Just so y'all know.

Oh, and my initial estimate that this story will be 40k to 50k words is looking low. Is anyone surprised?

For progress updates, info, rambling, fanart reblogs, and loads of other random stuff, follow me on tumblr at unforth-ninawatersdottumblrdotcom

Lastly - everyone here reading along on FFdotnet, I'm sorry that I am so behind on responding to stuff. The lack of direct replies to reviews (that I have to private message y'all instead) has meant that, for whatever reason, I've been shit about answering. However, I read everything, and all your comments are very appreciated. Thank you so much!


	4. Chapter 4

For images that accompany this chapter, see unforth-ninawaters dot tumblr dot com slash post/146658326638/images-for-chapter-4-of-disconnected

Added more tags this chapter: Panic Attacks; Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD; Captivity; Past Torture

* * *

 _To: castieljnovak at sandover dot com_

 _From: sandyblueeyes100 at hotmail dot com_

 _Sent: Nov 9 11:43:32_

[IMAGE 1]

 _Like a sky of constellations_.

"…lunch?"

Castiel snapped his eyes up from the e-mail to find Adler smiling at him, a toothy look that didn't give any warmth to his cold blue eyes. They'd finished perusing the first draft of the contract they intended to propose to Industrial Alliances; the next step was for the lawyers to review it and then send it to Industrial Alliances to consider. Until the lawyers got back to them, he and Adler had little to do; Castiel had planned to spend the day e-mailing and phoning among his usual clients, since he couldn't leave Dallas until this deal was finalized – another two weeks, at least, even though things were proceeding faster than they'd expected. Now, all he could do was stare at the image on his screen, stare at Adler, return his gaze to the screen, his stomach turning.

"I'm not hungry," Castiel snapped bluntly, hoping it was an appropriate response to whatever Adler had said.

"Truly?" Adler frowned, though as usual his eyes remained impassive. "I'm worried about you, Novak. You've lost weight since I saw you last June, and you seem fatigued. Is the international travel finally wearing on you? You've lasted longer than any other international coordinator we've had; I've heard it said that you're more robot than man, but we both know you're only human, after all; it was bound to take a toll on you." Another false smile, a terrible attempt at camaraderie and humor, graced Adler's face.

"Thank you, I'm fine," Castiel ground the words out, hoping to quash the conversation. He was not Adler's friend, he didn't want to be Adler's friend, and he _really_ didn't want Adler to see the e-mail he yet had open on his iPad. The image taunted him, fresh burns mirroring the current map on his chest of faint scars and small puckered burns. "I'm simply not hungry."

 _Screams died around the ball gag stuffed in Castiel's mouth. The sparkler had gone out but the brilliant light of it yet danced before his eyes. With a choked sob, he tried to stop the sounds ripping his throat, but he couldn't. The pain was excruciating._

Castiel hadn't shared that picture on . Castiel hadn't even known a picture of that day existed.

 _The vibrator in Castiel's ass, pressed firmly against his prostate, switched on at a high setting. Eyes going wide, Castiel gasped and frantically tried to get enough air, but there was saliva stuck in his throat, mucus clogging his nose, and he couldn't breathe. Frantic inhalations only caused the pain to intensify as the skin of his new-burned chest was forced to flex and stretch but couldn't because it was seared taut and impliable. His head spun, his heart raced, his hands and feet tingled, and black fleck danced across his vision._

"If you'll excuse me." Castiel knew he sounded strangled and unnatural but he couldn't help it. Grabbing his iPad without waiting for a reply from Adler, Castiel bolted to the bathroom, locked himself in a stall, dropped the iPad to the floor as he fell to his knees and heaved into the toilet.

 _A sharp slap on his cheek tingled and pulled him enough back to his senses that he could see Naomi standing over him, expression stern. "If you pass out, Castiel, I will make sure you regret it all summer. I understand that today is difficult for you, but you must understand that your poor decisions have consequences."_

" _If you ask me, you're too lenient on him," said a deep voice Castiel knew, though he'd never learned the dom's name. They had a large audience today, Naomi's friends invited over for her annual 4_ _th_ _of July celebration. Last year, Castiel had spent the holiday as a naked pool boy available for the pleasure of anyone who wanted to use him, and it had been a good night. This year…_

" _Nobody asked you, Uriel," said Naomi quellingly. "I do not comment on how you discipline your pets. You will refrain from speaking on how I discipline mine."_

… _this year, Castiel's parents had lamented that he'd not been home in over a year, and he'd asked for permission to spend part of the summer with them._

" _Fair enough," Uriel conceded. "This one needs a lot more training, though. He's not even hard."_

 _Permission to return home had been denied._

" _It's true." Naomi wasn't looking at him, he couldn't tell from her tone or what he could see of her expression what she was thinking. The vibrator pulsed within him but the stimulation only increased his awareness of pain. "I've invested so much effort into him and he tries, he truly does, but he's still a disappointment in so many ways."_

 _Punishment had been swift, punitive, and ongoing. Naomi had promised, though, that if he was good for her at the party, she would forgive him. That was why he was bound poolside. That was why a lit sparkler had been nudged between his teeth; she'd told him to hold it up and let it burn, but the sparks had been so bright, the flecks that hit his face had hurt, and he hadn't been able to keep it still, hadn't been able to hold it up. It seared his skin when it fell on his chest, burned agony while the onlooking doms applauded and commented that he was as pretty as the fireworks in the clear night sky, a constellation brought down to earth for their entertainment. At least, if they were pleased Naomi was probably pleased._

 _Probably._

" _You could cut him loose," suggested Uriel. "Find someone superior."_

"Novak, you in here?" A voice Castiel knew cut into his memory, achingly familiar, and fit in like it belonged. Castiel had already heaved up all the food that Charlie and Gilda had pushed on him for breakfast, but something in that voice triggered a painful stab in his stomach, and he coughed up bile into the stinking bowl. Only people who had been present that day could have taken a picture. Only people present that day could know that he'd been compared to a constellation.

" _I've never met someone with as much potential as darling Castiel." Faint praise as it was, Castiel's thoughts eased somewhat to hear it. Pain yet throbbed through him but he found it easier to breathe, easier to swallow back bile. It was imperative that he not throw up. If he started to choke, he wasn't sure if Naomi would help him._

 _He_ should _be sure of that. That he wasn't terrified him._

" _I've a thought, if I may…?" Another familiar voice, the incongruously light tone belonging to Naomi's friend Zach, intruded. Instantly, the pain and fear crashed in on him again. He didn't like Zach. Zach hurt him, and though Naomi chastised Zach for it, she never stopped him._

"I had a thought." It was Adler's voice, Castiel realized as he managed to claw back memory long enough to assign a name to the person who had joined him in the bathroom. "But if you're so 'sick' that you'd resort to throwing up in the bathroom…" There was a sneer in Adler's voice, condescension, superiority.

" _Be my guest," said Naomi graciously._

I could safe word, _he thought desperately. The scent of Naomi's perfume hit him powerfully, magnolia and lilac, but even had he not been gagged he couldn't have made the word come._

 _When Castiel's grades for the spring semester had been posted, Naomi had been extremely displeased to see that he'd gotten a B in Econometrics. Even thinking about what she'd done to punish him was enough to make him choke on vomit around his gag. When he'd used his safe word to make her stop, sobbing it over and over again around the vile taste of himself in his mouth, she'd desisted. She'd also bound him to her favorite gurney, left him there for days, denied him food, given him water only when he was so parched he felt ill, told him at length and repeatedly how disappointed she was at his weakness, and not released him until he'd sworn to never do "it" again. She'd_ said _she meant getting a B, but he knew her; he knew she meant using his safe word. He wouldn't do it again. He wouldn't. He was stronger than that. He was strong enough._

"Take it easy for the rest of the day," Adler suggested as if giving him a gift. "I hadn't realized you were so delicate, but it's alright – this time. Don't let it happen again. You're here to work, Novak, not to spend your weekends in debauchery. I was under the impression that you were better than this. I'd hate to have to report your behavior to Joshua."

 _A gentle hand came to rest on Castiel's cock, teasing at his balls, and pleasure struggled to win through the pain. A second hand rested on his side, forced his hips to pivot and press the vibrator into him more firmly. Bliss began to overpower every other feeling. His cock finally beginning to thicken when he caught a glimpse of something deep red in the darkness of the night and then something touched his shoulder. For a moment he felt nothing and then agony burst in, burning the pleasure out of him, and he sobbed against his restraints._

" _You know, I think your boy has lost weight." Zach spoke casually, as if he wasn't pressing a burning coal to Castiel's flesh, as if he couldn't smell hair and skin cooking and burning. "You need to teach him to take better care of himself."_

I won't try to leave, I won't, I'll stay, I'll be good, I won't go home, I'll get good grades, just stop, please stop.

 _Naomi smiled at him. "He'll learn eventually. I know he will."_

I'll be good, I swear, I'll do whatever you want me to do. But please…

 _Castiel went limp against his bindings and let them do as they would with him. He was there's to use, after all, and he deserved to be punished. That didn't stop him from wishing, though, didn't stop him from wondering if he'd ever be strong enough, if he'd ever be good enough. It didn't stop him from begging silently for them to stop hurting him._

"Please, stop," Castiel mumbled hopelessly. "I'm strong enough to work the rest of the day. I am. Please just leave me alone for a few minutes."

 _The next day, Naomi strapped him to her gurney again. He hadn't come for her guests, and she was extremely displeased. She would teach him to enjoy whatever she said he should enjoy. She would break him so thoroughly that only she could repair him._

"Very well," said Adler with a patina of graciousness. "We'll resume our discussions after lunch. I expect you to be on the ball, though, Novak. This deal is too important for you to blow it with your extracurricular activities."

 _Does he know? Does he know what Dean and I did yesterday? What assumptions has he made based on what little has he seen? He's ruining me._

Footsteps spoke to Adler leaving, the door slamming shut behind him, and Castiel slumped against the toilet in relief, tears making cold tracks down his face, throat aching.

 _No. I'm ruining me. I'm making these terrible choices, pursuing these deviant desires. I'm broken. I'm weak._

He didn't understand why he kept remembering. He'd give anything to forget.

 _Except…_

It was Dean's fault so much was coming back to him. Dean wanted to continue to scene with him. Dean wanted to meet him. Dean wanted to own him and control him.

Dean _might be_ Naomi.

With another heave, Castiel choked up saliva and burning acid and spat it into the toilet bowl. Slumping limply, he lay his head on the seat, not caring if it was dirty. The cool ceramic felt nice against his aching head, but it did nothing to soothe his thoughts.

 _It's not Dean's fault. It wasn't Naomi's fault. It's my fault. It's always been my fault._

 _I can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this to him, to Charlie, to Gilda, or to myself. It has to end._

* * *

Scrolling to the navigation box on Chrome, Castiel typed in " www dot deanwinchester dot com," stomach clenched in knots. He'd had no appetite since he'd thrown up the day before and had eaten nothing since a light lunch. For the first time since they'd started scening, he'd outright lied to Dean and said that he was fine. He wasn't fine, he didn't think he was fine, he was as far from fine as he'd been since the days immediately after he left Naomi, before he figured out how to plug in to the hole left in his life when he excised her from it. However, he still didn't know what to do about not being fine – _break it off with Dean immediately – no, I don't want to_ – and so he hesitated, he vacillated, he prevaricated, and he hated himself for it. Swallowing down thick saliva, hoping the burn rising in his throat would fade, Castiel hit enter.

Dean's website loaded quickly, sleekly laid out with white text and images over a black background. The main page was simple: an artistically cropped and blurred photograph suggestive of the curves of a naked body served as a header, text described Dean's business in unsurprisingly glowing terms, and stylized rope made borders and dividers between the navigation buttons. Clicking through, Castiel explored the entire site. Different sections described Dean's business, the history of Winchester Photography, his rates, and provided a form for contacting him. His phone number – not the one he'd given Castiel – was provided, as was the address to his studio. A large gallery showed his work, everything from weddings to kink to children's birthday parties, sorted so no one would see anything they didn't wish to, and the nudes were posted in an external gallery that Castiel avoided. The last thing he wanted was to become aroused, and he knew he would if he looked at Dean's images of shibari. One final tab led to an extensive list of reviews, referrals, and recommendations, overflowing with praise, of Dean and his business practice. He had an endorsement from the Knot and several prominent wedding magazines, a contrast to the positive reviews given to him by fetish publications and websites. Castiel wondered what those looking for a wedding photographer must think when they came to this website, then he remembered that Charlie had said that Dean had photographed her wedding and her wedding night, and he wondered if the unusual combination of kink and convention brought as many customers as it discouraged.

Of course, Dean's website _would_ be full of only the best of the best about him. Castiel didn't need information to reinforce his problematic belief that Dean was amazing. Castiel was all too aware of that. However, the voice that whispered all the worst and wondered if Dean was using him, if Dean would hurt him, suggested that there must be more to Dean. With that in mind, Castiel went to Google and did a search on him.

His Skype pinged with a text from Dean, but he ignored it, closing out of the window. It was late; Castiel hadn't gotten back to his hotel room after meeting with Alder and Sandover's lawyers until nearly 11 PM. Let Dean think Castiel was too tired to talk, or just not interested, or _something_ , but there was no way he could expose himself to the extent necessary to have a conversation. Instead, he scanned through the search results. There was a Yelp page, mostly positive reviews by those who used Dean's services and a few overwhelmingly negative, all of which read as the work of crusaders disgusted by Dean's "deviance." There were articles featuring Dean – Castiel read a couple, all positive, all featuring quotes that sounded so much like Dean that Castiel's heart ached as he imagined Dean saying them; several featured photographs of Dean, unmistakably the same man as Castiel had been scening with. Dean even had a Wikipedia page which described him as _the foremost kink photographer in North America_ and listed museums around the world that had added Dean's work to their collections. No matter how far into the search results Castiel delved, he could find nothing negative. He even tried modifying his search, adding terms like _abuse_ to see if any red flags came up but the only negative press he could find were dire warnings from religious websites that supporting Dean's business was tantamount to committing sins oneself and prognosticating the doom of Sodom and Gemorrah falling on him.

 _So Dean is exactly who Dean says he is…unless…_

With shaking hands, eyes gritty with fatigue as the clock slowly ticked into the small hours of the morning, Castiel entered the name _Naomi Tapping_ into the Google search bar.

There was no business webpage, no Yelp reviews, no right-wingers decrying her. The first result was to her Wikipedia page, describing her as a professor of economics and philosophy at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign and listing, in brief terms, her scholarship and areas of expertise. There was a grainy picture of her, too, taken from a distance as she spoke at an academic conference. A section discussed the critique of her economic theories, but there was nothing about her personal life beyond mention that she wasn't married and had no children. Returning to his search results, Castiel proceeded to her staff page on Urbana-Champaign's website and was confronted with a large photograph of her flanked by two graduate students.

Castiel shouldn't be surprised that Naomi had aged gracefully. The immaculate tailoring of her pants suit made it clear that her body had changed little; she hadn't lost any of her statuesque beauty. She was only a little shorter than he, and in the heels she wore all the time she'd been able to look him in the eye in a way that always felt like she was looking down at him. Her sleek brown hair was threaded with gray, but she wore it no less severely, perfectly smooth and drawn into a bun. Crows' feet traced out from the corners of her eyes and the lines about her mouth were more deeply incised even though she wasn't smiling. Her eyes were dark pools. Castiel wasn't sure how long he stared in to them, as though she could see him, as though she'd know he'd looked her up. He felt like he was twenty years old again, alone and hurt and scared and convinced that no one in the world would want him except for her.

" _You have beautiful eyes, mistress," he whispered to her, unable to look away. There was no ache, there was no fatigue, there was only a feeling of gently floating, his arm around the waist of the beautiful woman who lay, naked and sated, atop him._

" _You're a good boy, Castiel." Naomi brushed her lips over his cheek gently and cupped his chin. "Every once in a rare, wonderful while, you're my darling good boy."_

There was nothing about her appearance to indicate what a monster she was.

Tearing his gaze away, heart racing, throat tight, Castiel glanced over those standing behind her. His eyes were drawn to a young man at her shoulder, and though he was tall and broad, handsome and strong, his gaze was fixed on the ground, his shoulders slumped dejectedly. There was a tell-tale smudginess to his facial features that suggested that the boy was wearing makeup, and Castiel knew, _knew_ , that whoever he was, he was Castiel's replacement, maybe one of many that Naomi had used up and cast aside over the years.

Based on Googling Naomi, she could be a perfect angel, except that Castiel knew the truth, had learned the truth over five years of abuse and torture.

Based on Googling Dean, he could also be a perfect angel or he could be a demon, using his allure to draw Castiel back off the path that had seen him functional for the past 15 years.

From how he'd felt thus far, particularly the past week, Castiel was increasingly inclined to think Dean the second.

 _Even if Dean isn't Naomi, he's still terrible for me and I'm terrible for him. I need to stop this._

 _Why can't I stop this?_

* * *

Wednesday morning, Castiel woke up from fitful sleep. In an instant, uncountable memories crowded his awareness.

… _Naomi naked and smeared with his blood…Naomi "permitting" Castiel to watch her have sex with Uriel's new sub…Naomi perfectly coifed as Castiel, naked save for a dog collar, manacles and cock cage, waited on her hand and foot…Dean calling Castiel his…Naomi using a knife to carve her name into his back and brand her ownership forever into his skin…Dean asking to meet…Naomi's kindly expression as she told Castiel that, regrettably, he had not yet earned enough forgiveness to be allowed food…_

Shuddering, Castiel pushed the past aside and forced himself to get out of bed and go through his morning routine, forced himself to go work, forced himself to address his e-mails and make small talk with Alfie and pretend that Adler didn't nauseate him. No matter what he did, though, his thoughts kept cycling, the memories kept coming.

 _Dean…_

 _Naomi…_

His head hurt when he woke up on Thursday morning, and he couldn't bring himself to don his swimsuit and go for a dive in the cold November darkness. He'd not eaten since breakfast the previous morning; the thought of food made him nauseous though his stomach grumbled and he felt light-headed for lack of sustenance. Stepping into the shower, he turned the temperature up and up until the heat of the water drove every other thought from his mind. Too soon, though, he was finished, the water was off, and emotion and anxiety came crashing back in.

 _Dean would want me to tell him that I feel this unwell._

 _What Dean wants doesn't matter. I can't trust him. I don't dare trust him. I have to take care of myself._

" _Your problem, Castiel, is that you are incapable of taking care of yourself," Naomi said sadly, emphasizing the words by slapping the riding crop she held in one hand against her other palm. "I granted you your request. You have had your chance and seen first hand the outcome. Have you learned your lesson now?"_

" _Yes, mistress," said Castiel, misery and pain making the words choked and nearly inaudible. He'd thought he could live on his own again. He'd thought that, starting graduate school, having managed to finish college only a semester late despite his early mistakes, he was ready to be independent. He'd thought that, after years learning from Naomi, learning with Naomi, he was capable, good enough, strong enough._

 _He'd thought wrong._

" _I don't think you have," she gave him a cold smile. "But you will. You should know, Castiel, that despite your attempts at contrition I haven't decided if I will take you back. You will have to work hard to earn my forgiveness for your rebelliousness."_

 _An involuntary twinge strained his shoulders against the tight bindings that forced him spread-eagle, bound to Naomi's wall. He bit the inside of his lip to keep from whimpering. He didn't yet know what she had in store for him, but he knew it would be dreadful. He'd moved out, left her, claimed he didn't need as much of her freely-given help and support any longer, pretend that he could live without her._

 _He had no idea how to live without her._

" _So, I have a simple question for you: what do_ you _think is adequate punishment?"_

 _No, no, he hated when she made him choose._

" _I'll leave you to consider that." She smacked him with the riding crop once, hard, directly over his limp cock and balls, and he cried out in pain. Instinct demanded that he curl in on himself protectively but he was held tight; his hips, knees and shoulders twisted as they strained ineffectually against his bindings. "Choose well, Castiel. You have a great deal to atone for."_

 _And she left._

 _Castiel did not see her, or anyone, for two days, until exhaustion and dehydration and hunger had him slumping limply against the restraints that chaffed fire against his tattered skin._

 _He'd been crazy to think he could manage on his own. He'd never leave again._

Shuddering, shoulders bunching with tension, Castiel pulled himself from the past. He'd stayed for another two years after that. Adler was looking at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Adler didn't respond immediately, instead quirking an eyebrow and staring Castiel down until guilt curled unpleasantly in Castiel's belly. It was just like when he was in college. BDSM was interfering in his ability to be functional, his ability to work, his ability to be an adult, his ability to be _Castiel_. Finally, Adler tsked and shook his head slightly, disappointed. "Honestly, Novak, I've no idea how you manage your division. You don't seem capable of taking care of yourself, much less others."

 _I could let Dean take care of me._

 _No, no, no, no. Never again. I will never give up my autonomy again._

 _But it feels so good when I let go. How is meeting him in person different from scening with him?_

 _It's not, which is not an argument for meeting him, it's an argument against_

 _I let Charlie and Gilda take care of me._

 _That's different. They're different. They're safe, because they don't want me, because I don't want them._

 _Dean is dangerous._

 _Never again._

"I'm fine," Castiel said, his anger at himself emerging as harshness. "The lawyers for Industrial Alliances haven't gotten back to us yet. I believe we're done here?"

"If you say so." Adler's tone made it clear he thought nothing of the sort but he was prepared to humor Castiel's inadequacies. "But Novak? When you show up tomorrow I expect you to be clean, alert, and sober. Do you understand?"

"I'm not drunk," snapped Castiel. "I've not had a drink in years."

 _Did he think I was hungover on Monday? Was that what he meant by debauchery? What does he know? What does he think he think he knows?_

"Of course not," replied Adler indulgently. "You be a good boy, you hear?"

Sickened, Castiel grabbed his iPad off the table and bolted to his office, locking the door behind him. God, Adler disgusted him, with all his knowing glances and supposedly understanding words. It wasn't bad enough that Castiel's thoughts endlessly obsessed, wasn't enough that his memories tried to suffocate him, wasn't enough that he had nightmares, wasn't enough that he couldn't keep a meal down, no, he had to come to work and face innuendos and hints based on the things that Adler had seen, the things he'd inferred based on encountering Castiel at _Hack and Slash_.

 _If I'd never met Dean, if I'd never gotten back in to the life, none of this would have happened._

His second phone pinged and he spared it a glance.

 _Dean (6:32 PM):_ You've been awful quiet this week. You good, Cas?

 _Castiel (6:33 PM):_ I'm fine, Dean.

 _I'm not fine. I have to get away. But God damn it, I need this. I need him._

 _Castiel (6:35 PM):_ This week is extremely busy but I will be ready on Sunday. Let me know what I should do.

The only time Castiel could let go was, briefly, while they were in a scene. He hated himself for not putting a stop to things, but he couldn't, he _couldn't_. He was as weak and dependent as Naomi had always said. Turning the sound off, Castiel tossed the phone aside without waiting for a reply and went to review his e-mail. The only way to get through was to take each day, each hour, each minute, one at a time. Everything would be fine. He could do this. He could…

 _To: castieljnovak at sandover dot com_

 _From: sandyblueeyes100 at hotmail dot com_

 _Sent: Nov 12 6:28:11_

[IMAGE 2]

 _Pretty as a picture._

It was Castiel, expression strained, hands over his crotch in a gesture that Castiel _knew_ had been intended to hide his erection as he'd scened with Dean during the board meeting six months before. There was no way that Dean could have such an image, yet the words were those that Dean had used time and time again when describing Castiel. World spinning, Castiel came to himself on his knees, retching into the garbage can beside his desk with no memory of how he'd gotten into that position.

"Remember what I said." A smarmy voice deepened Castiel's horror as he looked up through tear-filled eyes to see Adler smirking at him. "You behave yourself."

" _Someone needs to teach this boy to behave himself." Naomi's friend Zach was the only other dom present that day._

" _Are you suggesting that you are qualified to do so when I have yet to succeed?" Naomi smiled her usual false smile, barely showing perfect teeth, eyes so cold that Castiel shivered. "I appreciate your skill, Zack, but Castiel is not like other subs. He is disobedient, resistant, stubborn,_ broken. _I have been trying to fix him, but he fights me at every turn."_

I do? Do I really do that? I do everything that she asks. What more can I do?

" _How embarrassing," tsked Zack. "Perhaps you'd let me try? One night with him all to myself? You may watch, of course…"_

No, please no, I'm yours, Naomi, I don't want to be anyone else's!

" _Interesting," Naomi said consideringly. "I would want to hear what you have planned before I could approve such a venture, but I am curious what you have in mind."_

Doesn't what I want matter at all?

" _I think you'll approve." Zack matched Naomi's false smile with one of his own and Castiel's stomach sank._

Of course it doesn't. I'm Naomi's. Whatever she wants, I will do.

 _Zack caught Castiel's eye and winked._

Adler caught Castiel's eye and winked.

Eyes widening, Castiel stared horror at _Zachariah_ Adler as he turned and left, closing the door behind him.

 _Didn't I lock that door? It's his office building. He must have a key._

 _Does it matter? Adler is Zack, Naomi's friend Zack. Adler is sandyblueeyes100. He must be._

 _Naomi could find me._

 _I'm not safe here. I'm not safe anywhere. I can't trust anyone._

Bile burned his throat as Castiel heaved uselessly into the garbage can.

He should never have signed up for SextersAnondotcom.

* * *

Adler acted like everything was normal on Friday, and Castiel did his best to follow suit, but his anxiety was so intense that he couldn't concentrate, couldn't keep still, couldn't stop thinking. What was Adler waiting for? Had he told Naomi? After so many years, would she even care?

 _Oh, she'll care. I was hers, and then I ran away. That's the kind of thing she'll never forget or forgive_.

Castiel's hands shook, his vision blurred, his stomach was so wrecked that he couldn't keep water down. He knew he should call in sick, maybe see someone, definitely eat and drink something, but he _couldn't_. Whenever he tried to stop moving long enough to see to his basic life functions his mind spun out of control, and so he kept moving, kept working, threw himself into every task even though his distraction ensured that he did a poor job at everything.

Working with Adler was the worst. Every time _Zach_ smiled, every time he smirked, every time he spoke, Castiel was vividly thrown back into the terrible past. The ghost sensations of everything Adler had done, everything Naomi had allowed Adler to do, pricked at his skin.

He didn't want to think.

He didn't want to remember.

He didn't want to talk about it.

He didn't want to experience it again.

He wanted the past to be the past.

Only he _couldn't stop thinking about it._

It was nearly midnight by the time Castiel finished work. His skin and flesh felt electrified, a constant buzz through his body that made him achy and exhausted. The feeling was disgustingly familiar, a further reminder of the many times Naomi had deprived Castiel of sustenance until he could behave himself. She knew he was a masochist, so she pursued means of punishment that wouldn't inadvertently bring him pleasure as well as pain, because Castiel was _naughty_ , because he was untrainable, stubborn, beyond even Naomi's ability to repair him. _No, it had nothing to do with my behavior. She exercised her power because she could, and chose to end the punishments when she felt like it._

Loud music leaked from the hotel bar as Castiel made his way through the lobby. In general, the Joule had been a quiet place to stay but it got rowdy on Friday and Saturday nights. Thus far, Castiel had ignored the raucous party, returning to his room and minding his own business. Without making a conscious decision, Castiel's feet carried him to the bar. Mood lighting made the noisy space feel claustrophobic; brilliant spotlights picked out the dazzling line of bottles lined up behind the bartender, a mirror amplifying their appearance dizzyingly.

"What'll you have?"

He couldn't stand it any longer. He needed his brain to _shut the fuck up_ and he only knew one sure-fire way of forcing it do so.

"Anything," said Castiel.

He'd not had a drink in almost twenty years, since before he left Naomi, but if there was one thing life had proven to Castiel amply, it was that he was weak, pathetically weak.

He couldn't stop seeing Dean, couldn't get help, couldn't even eat without feeling sick. If he was going to fail, he might as well fail _spectacularly_.

After one drink, the world spun because of alcohol rather than hunger.

After three drinks, Castiel didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore.

Finally, _finally_ , his thoughts were quiet.

* * *

Knowing looks followed Castiel everywhere he went on Saturday. He knew why; he'd caught his reflection in the mirror that morning. Eyes sunken, skin sallow, hands shaking, hair disheveled; no one could doubt what Castiel had been up to the night before.

For the first time since he'd been hired fresh out of graduate school, Castiel considered turning around and leaving work.

If only there wasn't so much he needed to do.

 _I'm better than this. I'm supposed to be better than this._

 _I'm not better than this_.

With all his willpower, Castiel fought through. He pushed his headache aside, ignored his aching insides, resisted a cup of coffee, pretended that everything was fine, that everything was ordinary. By the end of the day, his mind was empty; the need to push through how awful he felt and focus on his job forced him to find the strength he'd thought he lacked and reassert his self-control. He couldn't bear think about anything any longer, so he didn't.

 _Maybe the scene tomorrow will help calm my thoughts. Dean is so good to me._

 _God, I've come to rely on him, just like I relied on Naomi. What's the matter with me?_

 _The same things that have always been the matter with me, of course. There's no cure for this sickness._

"Would you like to get dinner with me?" Adler asked with a toothy grin as they wrapped up late that evening.

"No," Castiel said firmly, not a doubt in his mind, not a hint of hesitation.

He was in control of himself. Not Dean, not Naomi, and definitely not _fucking_ Zachariah Adler. Castiel was his own man.

Even the text awaiting him when he got back to his hotel room couldn't shake that resolve.

 _Dean (10:02 PM):_ The scene will begin at 2 tomorrow. When we start, I expect you to be naked, cuffed, bound hands together, ankles together, hands to ankles, on the bed, facing the camera, waiting for me. Do you understand?

 _If I were really in control of myself, I would tell him no. I would end this now._

 _Castiel (10:16 PM):_ I understand, sir.

* * *

Despite the disaster that had been Castiel's week, he awoke Sunday feeling remarkably calm. He couldn't have said what was different, though he supposed that a good night's sleep had helped. Anticipation for the scene to come itched upsettingly under his skin in a way he wished he could ignore.

 _I'm in control. I don't need this. I want this, and I'm choosing to do it._

 _Just keep telling yourself that, Castiel. Just keep lying to yourself._

He lost the morning to a long swim and, in compliance with standing orders from Dean, ate a hearty breakfast at the hotel restaurant. It was the largest meal he'd had in days and it settled heavy in his stomach. His swim had tired him out, but with food came energy, and with energy came the return of his thoughts spinning out of control. After a day of relative silence in his mind, Castiel was even less prepared to handle the endless recrimination and the accompanying flow of memories. It had felt so _good_ to feel nothing for a change. Drinking had obliterated his thought processes, and coping with his hangover had done the same. Hopefully, doing a scene, and especially the post-scene high, would accomplish the same result.

 _At least until I drop and there's no one with me to help._

 _I wouldn't have to deal with drop if I stopped doing scenes._

Impatience ate at Castiel, worsened whenever his thought cycled back to the terrible. Unable to escape through physical activity, unable to distract himself with work, Castiel decided he'd had enough. He counted on this scene to help quiet his demons; there was no reason for him not to prepare early.

The collection of sex toys that lived in the box in Castiel's suitcase had grown substantially over the past months. He had several pairs of rope cuffs to secure his hands tightly and hold until he chose to loosen them. Initially, the knowledge that he could free himself at any time had been a turn off. He'd tried to convince Dean that it was a bad plan and that he wouldn't enjoy it. Ultimately, it had taken a direct order from Dean for Castiel to relent. For two hours after his orgasm, Castiel had been able to do little beyond stare with happy bemusement at the screen, at Dean. Choice was the key. Unlike bindings that were forced on him, with these cuffs Castiel continually chose to stay bound, continually chose to behave himself. The test to his self-control was monumental and he adored it. From such inauspicious beginnings, Castiel had grown to cherish the simple restraints as one of his favorite toys, and Dean delighted in indulging Castiel's love of them.

Thinking about how steady he'd felt the day before, how out of control he'd felt the rest of the week, Castiel dared to hope that the choice to restrain himself, the choice to obey, would restore some of his precious equilibrium.

 _Why would it do that? It hasn't the last couple scenes._

Pushing the thought aside, Castiel stripped as soon as he was back in his room, retrieved the bindings, and set up the scene. Dean had anticipated Castiel's early log on, for when Castiel initiated a Skype videochat, one opened immediately, showing a view that Castiel recognized as Dean's studio rather than his home. The camera faced a blank brick wall with nothing but an empty stool placed before it. The poured concrete floor was covered in a plush-looking carpet. There were no hints of what might be in store for him. Taking up the ropes, Castiel carefully bound himself, not too tightly, not too loosely. Dean had given Castiel extensive instruction on self-binding to be sure that Castiel didn't accidentally cause himself permanent injury. He'd had no clue that bondage was so complex, or so potentially damaging, but Dean was an expert and took no chances. Settling back, wrapping his hands around his tied ankles, Castiel stared at the computer monitor until his vision went out of focus and his thoughts drifted.

 _A scene is just what I need._

 _Unless I'm wrong about Dean and he decides to punish me for some perceived infraction._

 _What's wrong with me? Why can't I trust him? When has he ever done anything that justifies my doubts? Never. He's not done a single thing wrong. No, that's not right – he has occasionally erred in his judgement, pushed too far or not far enough, but afterwards he's always been open to discussion, apologized when he made mistakes. Dean listens to me._

 _He always, always, always asks what I want, always honors my requests._

 _Dean is not Naomi._

The bindings didn't help Castiel control his memories. Of course they didn't. He should have known better. Underneath the veneer of self-control, Castiel was no more able to control himself than he'd been at 18. When his longing for sexual release overcame him, he'd joined SextersAnon, kept seeing Dean though he knew it was a bad idea, and every dire prediction he'd made for himself was coming true. At the first sign of trouble, he'd gotten drunk, undoing in one fell swoop what little good Naomi had accomplished with her harsh training regimen.

 _Too weak. Always too weak._

" _Castiel, why are you being punished today?"_

I don't know.

" _Because my self-control slipped." Castiel said what he thought Naomi wanted to hear. If he guessed incorrectly, the consequences would be dire, but they'd be worse if he held silent._

" _Be specific, boy," she snapped angrily. Castiel flinched. "And be_ still _."_

 _Frantic, Castiel combed his memory of the past few days. He'd adhered to his schedule precisely, done everything she'd asked, not come, not cried out, not moved. He'd done his homework and gone to class and come home. He hadn't spoken to anyone except when he'd had to, hadn't called home, hadn't done any of the many things that she had forbidden him from doing for his own good._

" _I…" he stalled._ I must have done something, _something_ wrong, but what? I don't know, I don't know, I don't…

" _Such a disappointment," sighed Naomi. Castiel's muscles tensed. "You don't even know, do you? Castiel, whatever am I going to do with you?"_

" _Punish me, mistress," he whispered._

" _Yes. Until you can tell me_ exactly _what you did wrong."_

 _Swallowing, Castiel did his best to center his thoughts in preparation for whatever was to come. He hadn't a clue what his misstep had been and he knew from experience that Naomi would not relent until he figured it out._

 _It was going to be a very long day._

"Afternoon, Cas!" Dean's voice was incongruously cheerful interrupting Castiel's troubled memories. "You ready?" Castiel hadn't even noticed Dean arriving on camera. There was a hardness to Dean's expression, not a hint of a smile despite the happiness apparent in Dean's tone, andCastiel's nerves flared.

 _What do I have to do to hold on to that sense of peace I had yesterday?_

"Yes, sir," said Castiel.

 _Obey. I have to obey. I have to be good enough for Dean._

"Awesome," Dean smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. _I'm already failing. He's already unhappy. He's going to punish me. Why is he going to punish me? Does he know I've been thinking about leaving? He wants to own me, but I don't want to let him, I can't let him._ Tension bunched Castiel's muscles against the bindings holding his wrists and ankles together. Dean's stoicism reminded Castiel upsettingly of Naomi and didn't belong on Dean's usually expressive countenance. "If you'll just come on over here…"

Confused, Castiel was about to speak when a man stepped into the frame of the camera and Castiel realized that Dean had been speaking to the stranger, not Castiel. The unfamiliar person was naked save for a mask covering his entire head, blocking his sight. In size and build, he was fairly similar to Castiel, tall and muscled, lean and tanned, thick cock uncut.

 _His dick looks like mine. Do I know that Dean imagines me when he uses that dildo? Maybe he is thinking of this man instead, this man that he can actually have, actually touch, actually be with._

Dean reached out and guided the man to sit on the stool and positioned him: back straight, legs splayed, half-hard cock and loose balls resting on the wooden seat. The man's feet rested on the support bars, his arms dangled limp at his sides, his head stared steadily straight ahead of himself at nothing.

"So, this is you," Dean explained.

 _No, it's not. I'm here, alone, while he gets to be with you. This is my punishment, identical to how Naomi used a different sub when she wanted me to understand what proper comportment looked like. I'm not good enough, I've never been good enough, and so Dean has to turn to someone else. How many times has he been with other submissives since he and I began to scene? How often has he compared them to his naughty, stubborn, inadequate long-distance boy?_

 _Whose choice is that, Castiel? What right have I to be jealous when I'm who said no?_

"Cas, today is easy for you: watch and listen," instructed Dean. He lay a hand on his companion's leg and the man trembled. Normally, Castiel's body would react to the perceived touch – Dean had said that the man was Castiel's surrogate, and Dean's hand lay on the surrogate's leg, which was tantamount to his hand on Castiel's leg – but today, there was nothing. No sense of touch, no sense of pleasure, no sense of peace. Castiel was empty save for his chattering thoughts. "I've been wondering if I can get you off with nothing more than a visual and the sound of my voice. So, no touching allowed. If you come, great. If not, you're going to sleep hard. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

With a firm nod, Dean leaned forward and murmured something in the man – _his sub's –_ ear and got a reply tapped on the back of his hand.

 _He gets to touch Dean. He gets to be with Dean. He gets what I want, he gets what I can't have._

Reaching off camera, Dean grabbed a long, coiled length of red rope. "So, today we're going to be trying a complex tie. You've got no fricken _clue_ how badly I want to get my hands on you, Cas, so I thought I'd show you how fuckin' beautiful you'd look draped in rope, let you feel what it'd be like to let yourself go and trust…the binding…to hold you up."

" _Don't you trust me, Castiel?"_

 _Castiel wanted to trust Naomi. He'd trusted her for years, but she'd lied, she'd lied and he'd caught her and he was_ absolutely sure _that she hadn't told the truth, that he hadn't forgotten or grown confused. So many times before, he'd doubted her but it had been so much easier to doubt himself, to assume that Naomi was infallible and that it was Castiel who had erred. However, he'd found the original syllabus while looking for his textbook, he'd found the version she hadn't modified, compared it to the one she'd given him, the only difference being that the omission of a critical deadline – a deadline he'd already missed and lamented and been punished for neglecting._

 _It wasn't that he hadn't put it on his calendar. It was that she had deliberately hidden it from him._

 _What did that mean for every other time he'd been_ so sure _he hadn't made a mistake, all the other times Naomi had been 'right' and exacted punishment for Castiel's supposed misbehavior?_

Dean continued talking, draping rope around the neck of his sub, describing his actions, but Castiel couldn't connect with what Dean said, couldn't find the focus to concentrate. "…beautiful thing about this tie is it looks like nothing as it's coming together, all loose drapes and bends, until the final few knots and then it tightens and comes together. You'll see. A tie like this, I could bind you to this chair, or to the wall, or to the hooks embedded in my ceiling, it wouldn't matter – you'd have no chance to get free until I was done with you."

 _Desperate, Castiel strained against the handcuffs binding his wrists together, looped around the base of the heavy metal radiator. At the angle he was held, he couldn't sit up, could hardly move. While he'd had strength, he'd been able to hold his head up and off the disgusting, soiled ground, but as fatigue and hunger and thirst and pain overcame him, he'd slumped to the floor, unable even to dodge the pool of urine that spread from where he'd soiled himself. The radiator hissed, venting heat into the sweltering room. Sweat beaded on his forehead, matted his hair down, added the stink of perspiration to that of bodily waste._

 _He was supposed to be able to control himself but he couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't do anything, couldn't do anything right. Naomi had promised to free him when he apologized for the things he'd said. She'd vowed that Castiel would never be done with her, could never be done with her._

 _Castiel would never be free._

"And while I had you tied, you'd be completely at my mercy. Bet you'd like that, huh, Thursday? I would…"

 _Frigid water woke Castiel, chunks of ice pelting his head and body, cutting his skin, burning his eyes, chilling his cock and balls tight. The foul puddle in which he lay sluiced away down the drain Naomi had installed in the center of the tiny room. There was nothing else, no windows, no furniture, no decorations, just unpainted drywall, a concrete floor, a drain, a radiator, and Castiel, too weak to move even if Naomi undid his bindings._

" _Please, Naomi. Please stop. Please let me go. I won't leave, I won't try to leave. I swear it. But please don't do this!"_

" _No, Castiel, you won't leave me. I'm not done with you yet. The point of punishment is that you_ do not enjoy it. _Zack, is he clean enough for you now? I know how much you enjoy using him when he's helpless and at your mercy."_

No, please no.

"What was that, Cas?"

The direct question startled Castiel out of his memories, returned him to himself. His skin was clammy, sweat beaded on his forehead, and his cock was limp.

"Nothing, sir," Castiel said, throat dry, words hoarse. He had no idea what he might have said aloud.

"Not even hard for me?" said Dean incredulously, a dangerous glint in his eye.

" _Look at that sad, soft little cock."_

"I'm disappointed in you, Cas."

" _This one is such a disappointment, Naomi, I'm not sure why you keep wasting your energy on him."_

"I'll teach you to want this."

" _Didn't I teach you better than this, Castiel? You have to entertain my friends before you can even_ think _of getting out of this room."_

"I'll teach you to want me."

" _Please, Naomi – mistress! – please, I want you, I'll be good for you, I'll be so good, only please – please!"_

"And if you don't learn – until you learn – there will be consequences."

" _Actions have consequences, Castiel. If you are too stupid to understand that after five years, I have no choice but to use extreme methods to teach you."_

"There will continue to be consequences until you do better."

" _I'm doing my best, mistress, I am!"_

"I know you can do better, Cas."

" _Your best isn't good enough, Castiel."_

" _No, please no_ , no, no, no, no…"

"Cas?"

"Magnolia!" Castiel gasped. Every muscle locked, strained against his bindings, tugging them so tight his fingers tingled and ached.

"Oh my God, Cas!"

"Magnolia," he sobbed. He had to get free, he had to make Dean stop, he had to make his thoughts stop, he had to, _had to_ make Naomi stop, she had to stop, she had to stop hurting him, she had to feed him, she had to let him go, she couldn't keep him bound forever, could she? She could, she could and she would and he couldn't make her stop, couldn't beg her to stop, he was utterly powerless and he was never, ever, ever going to be free.

"Talk to me, Cas," Dean said urgently, but the words meant nothing. Catching one hand with the other, Castiel found the bones of his thumb joint, pressed and pulled them with all his might. It was the only way out of his handcuffs – _handcuffs?_ – the only way to get free of the radiator and get free of the room and get free of Naomi. It hurt, it hurt so fucking much, but not as much as Zack taking him dry while Naomi watched, not as much as Naomi's condemnations that named him a perpetual, eternal failure, a source of endless disappointment to her.

He'd used his safeword.

Naomi would kill him.

Pain seared through him as he dislocated his thumb and slipped his hand free of his binding.

"Please, Cas, I'll stop – I've stopped – but what happened, you gotta tell me what happened, I'll do anything to help you but—"

Why had it taken Castiel so long to realize that he would never be good enough for Naomi? He could never meet her expectations, never be what she wanted him to be. Panting desperately, Castiel used his freed hand to slam the laptop shut, cutting Dean off. He wasn't good enough for Naomi and he'd never be good enough for Dean. He couldn't do this anymore, he couldn't. Crumpling, he brought his hands to his front, popped his thumb back into joint with a flare of pure agony that was so much less pain than he deserved.

 _I used my safeword, you have to punish me, you have to, have to—_

Memories of punishments, with Naomi, with Naomi's friends, with Dean, came in fragments that lanced through his body as powerfully as if they were actually being done to him. Curling in on himself in a futile attempt at self-defense, Castiel brought his knees to his chest, trapping his hands against his urgently fluttering chest.

 _No, no, stop, I'm not strong enough for this, I'm not strong enough, it hurts, stop, stop, stop, stop Dean, stop Naomi, I'll be good, I'll be good, I'll be good…_

His vision flickered black. As desperately as he gasped for air, he couldn't get enough, his head spun, his limbs tingled, vertigo roiled his stomach and his head and he tried to breathe but he _couldn't_ …

… _I'll be good, I swear I'll be good…_

…why couldn't he breathe? Why couldn't he…

… _let me go, please let me go, I'll do anything…_

…he should be able to…

His phone rang, soft sound loud as a claxon, and he gulped in a startled inhalation that broke through his panic.

 _I'm okay, I'm okay, Naomi isn't here, Dean isn't here, this is_ exactly _why Dean isn't here, he said he wouldn't punish me for using my safeword but he would, I know he would, and I can't, I can't take any more, I can't…_

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The phone stopped ringing.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

 _I'm okay._

 _Neither of them can hurt me._

 _Unless Zachariah captures me. Unless Zachariah tells Naomi where I am._

 _No. No. He won't. He wouldn't. If he were going to he would have already._

A ping indicated that a voicemail had been left.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

With trembling hands, Castiel undid the bindings on his feet, pulled off the cuff dangling from his wrist and tossed both aside as if they were shackles he was free of after a lifetime of captivity. His vision began to clear.

 _I was hyperventilating. But I'm okay now, I'm okay, that's why I can—_

The phone rang again. Renewed panic gripped Castiel like a fist over his throat. Scrambling off the bed, he ransacked his neatly folded clothing, looking for the spare phone. He found it, but cloth separated him from accessing it. The ring cut off, only to begin again immediately. He had to make it stop, every note pealed condemnation, an accusation that Castiel was inadequate, weak, pathetic, because he'd safeworded, because he'd shut Dean down when Dean had asked him what was the matter. Frantic, he finally managed to get the phone free, tottering as he carried it to the desk in his hotel room. The screen flashed with each ring, _Dean Calling_ written in large block letters. Hefting the clunky handheld phone that came with the room, Castiel slammed it into the cell phone. Tinkling, breaking glass fragmented the next ring and the screen went dark and Castiel dared to breathe, dared to – the phone rang again – _stop, stop, stop_ – and Castiel slammed the room phone against it again, again, again, until it finally stopped.

The room fell blissfully silent except for the sound of Castiel's panting breaths and racing heartbeat.

Memories crashed in around him. Experiences he'd had with Naomi and with Dean combined horrifically until he couldn't keep track of who had done what to him, what he had consented to and what he hadn't, where he was, even who he was. He wasn't Castiel, he was merely an extension of the will of his dom, a facet of their personalities, a whim.

 _Have to get away, have to…_

Forcing himself upright, forcing himself to his feet, Castiel took one step at a time towards the gleaming bathroom. He was dirty, he was twisted, he was out of control, and he couldn't handle it any longer. The glistening white tiles mocked him with their purity, with their brightness; he kept the light on long enough to turn the hot water on to the highest setting and then flicked the switch to plunge the room into darkness. He didn't want to see the pristine whiteness, didn't want to see his reflection, didn't want to see anything. Stepping into the shower stall, he shivered as the water lingered cold, stood under the driving flow as it grew warm, then hot, then scalding. Slowly, his skin seared and his thoughts grew quiet.

 _I have to be in control again. It's the only way for me to be functional. What I want is irrelevant. I cannot have this interfering with my life any longer. I cannot be trusted with this. I cannot have Dean._

 _What do I have to do to be at peace?_

 _I have to feel nothing. I can't afford to feel anything ever again._

* * *

" _Are you sure you want to uninstall 'Skype?'"_ Castiel pounded the "Ok" button. " _Successful Uninstallation! Click 'Finish' to Complete Uninstall.'"_

Castiel didn't heave a sigh of relief. He didn't smile. He didn't relax. His aching shoulders didn't ease, and his taut, reddened skin chafed uncomfortably against his starched dress shirt.

He hit enter.

Skype was no longer on his laptop.

His secondary cell phone lay where he had broken it, fragments of the shattered screen littering the desk.

Dean no longer had any means of contacting him.

 _I'm being bad, I should—_

Castiel quashed the thought. He should do nothing save exactly what he was already doing. His desires were a disease, the symptoms were anxiety and fear and flashbacks and every indication of how _broken_ Castiel had grown since he met Dean in June. The cure was complete elimination of the infection. He would not think. He would not want. He would not crave. He would not miss Dean or worry about Dean or think of Dean at all.

Castiel had work to do.

Rising from the desk, he walked to the closet and retrieved his dress jacket. When he'd emerged from the shower, flesh agony, he'd dried himself and dressed as for work in pressed slacks, an undershirt beneath a button up, dress socks. Flicking through his wardrobe, he added a tie to his outfit, making the knot by rote and tightening it until it pressed against his throat every time he inhaled.

 _I could put a tortoise shell under my clothes. That always helps me keep calm._

 _No. No more crutches. No more submission._

 _I'm not allowed to self-tie without Dean's permission._

 _I can control myself. I don't need help. I don't need permission._

 _I am disobedient. I deserve punishment._

Ruthlessly suppressing the contradictory voices that whispered poison in his head, Castiel sat before his laptop again, opened his e-mail and proceeded to review the messages he'd received since the previous evening. He should never have taken Sundays off. He had so much work to do: reports to write, people to contact, relationships to forge, contracts to finalize. As mid-afternoon faded into evening, Castiel lost track of everything beyond his tasks, his thoughts empty save for the demands of his job.

 _Perfect._

Pounding on his door pulled Castiel from review of a presentation that Anna had written for a meeting she had on Tuesday. Tearing his eyes from the screen, Castiel blinked, trying to clear his vision. The room had grown dark as he worked, and the contrast between that and the brightness of his computer screen hazed his sight. The only thing he could see clearly was the digital clock on the nightstand, which read 10:47. Castiel hadn't noticed it growing so late, hadn't felt any pangs of hunger or discomfort from sitting in the chair. He'd been focused. He'd been in control.

The knocking grew louder.

It was too late for housekeeping. Maybe someone from work? Or—

"Cas?" A gruff voice, low and frightened and achingly familiar.

Dean.

 _He's here, he's actually here, he's angry, he's…_

… _how did he know where to find me?_

"Cas, you in there?" Dean was desperate, still knocking, sounds reverberating through the room even more loudly than Castiel's heartbeat.

 _Charlie told him. Charlie or Gilda. No, Gilda wouldn't do that. It must have been Charlie. She lied to me. I trusted her, and she betrayed me._

 _Never again._

"Go away, Dean," Castiel said coldly.

"Thank Jesus _fuck_ ," exploded Dean. "Dude, what happened? Let me in, we need to talk!"

"No."

 _Obey him. Do as he says. He's my dom._

"I get it, I'm kinda ambushing you here, but I couldn't get through on Skype and something is wrong with your phone and—"

"We have nothing to talk about," interrupted Castiel. His eyes locked on the door, fear quickening his heart beat as if Dean might break the barrier down or magically pass through it. "You do not belong here. You are not a part of my life. You will leave _now_."

The pounding stopped and silence stretched out, but Castiel didn't trust it, couldn't believe that Dean would leave so easily.

 _Dean won't leave until he's punished me._

 _No, no, Dean isn't like that, Dean isn't Naomi._

 _Dean tried to claim me, Dean tried to own me, Dean showed up at my door even though I told him I didn't wish to meet._

 _Dean_ is _Naomi. Charlie is Naomi. They're all Naomi. That's what doms are, that's how doms behave._

"Please, Cas." The pleading note in Dean's voice was new, but it changed nothing. "Why won't you let me help you? Why won't you _ever_ let me help you?"

"I cannot be any clearer than I have already been," Castiel replied, steeling his resolve. "You are not welcome here. You will _never_ be welcome here. I neither desire nor require your help."

"Would ya let Charlie and Gilda help you?" snapped Dean. "No – no, I'm sorry, that wasn't – Cas, I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry. I was pissed. You've been keeping me at arm's length, telling me nothing was wrong when I was sure, I was so fucking sure that something was, so I pushed your buttons today and I shouldn't have. It was a douche bag thing to do and now you're hurting and—"

 _He did it on purpose._

 _He upset me intentionally._

 _God, he really is Naomi._

"Good night, Dean."

"Cas—"

"Never contact me again."

"I'm sorry, Cas." Dean sounded…even through the door, Dean sounded crushed. The words twisted like a knife in Castiel's chest, but then his iron control took over, the pain faded, and there was nothing, not a sound in the room, not another knock on the door, not a hint that Dean had left, but Castiel was sure this time that he had.

It was over.

Castiel was free.

When Castiel had escaped from Naomi there had been an incredible lightness in the days that followed, euphoria at discovering that he wasn't accountable to her or anyone. He could make his own choices, go where he would. He reconciled with his family, rediscovered his friends, transferred to a new school far away. After he left Naomi, Castiel was reborn. There were moments it was terrifying, but mostly it was glorious.

Now, Castiel felt nothing.

 _You know Dean isn't really Naomi, right?_

Castiel obliterated the thought, obliterated all thoughts, returned to his computer and the presentation he was reviewing.

He felt nothing.

That was all he deserved.

* * *

End note: Sorry.

(not sorry. this was always coming. I've been dreaming of this chapter since I wrote the first story...from the very first time someone asked me how they'd meet in person I knew this was how things were gonna go)


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter hits rock bottom.

But it also starts to fix things.

Consider yourselves warned. And reassured.

Also note that at this point I'm guessing this will be seven chapters (rather than 6 as I'd originally expected). There will be one more story in this series, called Offline, that'll be working on as soon as this story is finished.

See my tumblr for this chapter's accompanying image: unforth-ninawaters dot tumblr dot com, /post/146801336258/photo-for-disconnected-accidentally-posted-the

* * *

 _I need to be punished._

For the most part, Castiel's thoughts were wonderfully peaceful.

 _Once I wipe this sin from my body, it'll be done, it'll all be done. I'll be as closed to fixed as I can be._

Reporting to the office bright and early Monday morning, Cas couldn't say he felt good, but at least he didn't feel wretched.

 _The shower helped, but it wasn't enough._

Every movement stretched Castiel's burned skin, red like he had a sunburn everywhere that the heated water had struck him.

 _No. I need to stop. I need to move on_.

The day passed quickly. No memories distracted Castiel from work, not even when Adler leered and made suggestive comments, not even when Castiel recalled that Adler knew him, knew Naomi, and might betray him. It didn't matter. Naomi and Dean only had power over Castiel because he had granted it to them. Over time, he'd ceded more and more of himself to their control, until even his attempt to leave Naomi resulted in him chained in her dungeon, starved and beaten and abused. But the initial concession was his to grant, his and his alone. No one could force that from him, no one could make the choice for him. Adler couldn't have power over him unless Castiel granted it.

 _Adler – Zachariah –_ Zack _– he could punish me like I deserve._

No memories surfaced at the thought. Everything was boxed up, stuffed into the back of his mind, closed away forever. It had been foolish – insane, even – to let those memories out. Castiel didn't need reminders of how damaged he was. Never again.

 _Adler's punishments wouldn't be like Dean's punishments._

For an instant, Castiel remember Dean, all of Dean, all at once, an overwhelming wash of feeling in comparison to how wonderfully dead Castiel had felt throughout the day: the care Dean took to obtain consent, the effort Dean took creating scenes, the concern Dean showed for Castiel's well-being, the sound of Dean's voice through the door as he begged Castiel to let him in. They could have met last night. They could have been together.

 _Never again_.

Castiel stopped thinking, focused on his job, ate a large lunch, swam until midnight, and everything was fine – everything was great.

Returning to his room after his swim, Castiel swiped his keycard, opened the door and felt something crinkle underfoot as he stepped within. Surprised, he looked down. There was a sheet of paper on the floor that hadn't been there when he'd come to his room earlier to change into his swim trunks. With a frown, he reached down and picked it up.

 _Cas_ , it read in a lovely flowing script, _I'm so sorry about what happened yesterday. If I had known that Charlie told Dean where to find you, I'd have warned you. As it is I've taken steps to impress upon her how completely inappropriate her behavior was. I can well imagine what you are going through right now, and it worries me greatly that you are alone. While I understand that it will be hard for you to trust me right now, I'd appreciate the chance to speak with you and do what I can to help. I swear to you that I will tell neither Charlie nor Dean where you are, should you take me up on this offer. Charlie tells me that your phone isn't working and she believes you have discontinued your usage of the Skype service. If you'd like to contact me, my number is (469) 555-5641. Your friend, Gilda_

 _PS Charlie doesn't know I have left you this note, nor will I tell her. The choice is yours and I will do everything in my power to ensure that you feel unthreatened and safe._

Reaching the end of the note was a mercy. Merely reading it quickened Castiel's pulse, tightened his throat, triggered his nerves so severely that his hands tingled. Memories tried to resurface from the depths of his mind.

 _Have to make them stop, have to make her stop, have to stop this, never again, never again…_

The paper crumpled in his hand. Making his way to the bathroom to shower off the chlorine and change into his pajamas, Castiel threw it into the trash, turned the water to the highest temperature, and seared the past from him once more.

In the morning, he'd pack his belongings, check out of his room, and took up residence at a different hotel.

 _Never again._

* * *

" _Thank you," Castiel breathed. "Thank you, thank you, thank you…" Naomi stroked his aching cock gently, running her deft fingers over the head, as she nipped along his shoulder so hard that her teeth tore his skin over and over. It was glorious._

Castiel woke to his darkened room, hard and sickened at the arousal flowing through him.

1:17 AM.

Turning over, he closed his eyes again.

 _He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he floated euphoric and miserable above the clouds surrounded by the trembling desperation of the other bodies around his. There were two cocks spreading him wide, a leaking pussy dripping into his mouth, but all four of them had been ordered to keep still, to not move, to not come, as seconds stretched into endless minutes and their doms acted like nothing out of the ordinary happened. Castiel hated being so stretched open, hated that his own cock was neglected, but it was what Naomi wanted so he accepted it. Being the sub she wanted felt good, being good for her felt so good, and she'd promised to have sex with him if he behaved himself and didn't come._

Castiel woke with tears in his eyes, the rest of the memory playing out even though he was no longer trapped in the nightmarish past. He'd done exactly as she'd asked that day but she'd found fault with some minor detail, he couldn't remember what, and denied him.

He didn't want to remember.

There must be some way to forget.

2:01 AM.

Mashing his face into the pillow, Castiel blanked his mind to the endless refrain of " _never again, never again_."

" _Such a good boy," Dean murmured affectionately. Castiel could scarce believe the care he heard in that voice. The scene was done, Dean had come, there was no reason for them to remain on the phone together. Castiel hadn't been dropping badly of late, there was no need for him to be supervised over such simple tasks as feeding himself and taking a shower, yet Dean insisted on accompanying him. "Man, your face was so fucking beautiful when you came, Cas. Every time I think I've seen what you're capable of, you amaze me again. The first time, I thought you were fuckin' spectacular, but you've been better, you've been better and better. You're perfect, Cas. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, ya hear?"_

Castiel woke with his chest aching, loneliness burrowed so deeply into his skin he thought he'd never be free of it.

Dean lied. Dean couldn't be trusted. No matter how sweetly Dean spoke, no matter how different the things Dean said were from those that Castiel had been told before, Dean _was_ Naomi.

 _Who's the liar, Castiel? Who can't be trusted? Who's stuck in the past?_

 _It's not Dean._

2:36 AM.

Wishing that he hadn't cast aside the spare pillows in a fit of austerity, Castiel rolled onto his back, stretched his legs out straight, lay his arms neatly at his sides, and prayed for dreamless sleep.

" _Please let me help you, Cas!" Dean implored._

Castiel woke up weeping.

3:12 AM.

 _It's better this way. I don't want to hurt him anymore._

Desperate for oblivion, Castiel tried to sleep yet again.

 _Naomi sniffed unsympathetically. "Castiel, you begged me to hit you harder, beat you longer. You asked for this. You wanted this. You deserved this. It sickens me to be with someone who enjoys beatings as much as you do. Of course you hurt today. That doesn't excuse you from your responsibilities. If you aren't strong enough to overcome the pain and teach your section, I cannot continue to have you as a TA. Prove yourself worthy, or accept the consequences."_

Castiel woke up sobbing.

3:31 AM.

His tears didn't subside until he was already gone again.

" _This is it, Castiel. This filth? This punishment? This pain? This hunger? This is all you will ever be good for, this is all you will ever be. Why would I touch someone so disgusting? You sicken me, boy."_

Castiel woke up curled in on himself, shaking uncontrollably. His mouth was gummy with saliva and mucus, his eyes burned with tears.

3:57 AM.

Stumbling out of bed, Castiel dragged himself to the bathroom, turned the hot water on to maximum, and tried once again to burn the past out of him.

It didn't work.

 _This isn't enough punishment. Some small part of me likes these showers too much, enjoys the burn and the bone-deep ache that lingers throughout the day. I can't punish myself, can't_ truly _punish myself, not the way I should, not the way I need._

 _The entire point of punishment is that I'm not supposed to enjoy it. And I'm too weak to do something I truly dislike to myself._

 _Someone else has to do it. I need someone else to punish me._

When he finally had his equilibrium back, he turned the water off, forced his aching limbs to obey him, dried himself off with a soft terrycloth towel that scoured his flesh like sandpaper, and dug Gilda's letter from the trash.

She might be right.

He might need help.

The thought of asking for it, though, of contacting her and encountering Charlie or, even worse, Dean, was unbearable.

He might _not_ need help.

 _Gilda won't punish me. Dean and Charlie might, but I can't face that, I can't face that they know how much I deserve it, can't face the possibility that they won't give me what I deserve._

Smoothing the crinkles from the sheet, he folded it neatly, put it into his wallet and headed for the office.

 _Stop. Stop thinking. Stop feeling._

 _Never again._

Sure, it was only 5 AM, but he had work to do. Thank fricken _God_ , he always had more work to do.

* * *

Each day of the week was a perfect replication of Monday.

Castiel woke up early, went to work, stayed late, ate heartily though the food tasted like ash, swam until his muscles were liquid with fatigue, collapsed into bed only to be awoken continually by nightmares that plagued him despite his efforts to exhaust himself to dreamlessness.

The lawyers argued over the contract.

Adler made snide innuendos.

Industrial Alliances threatened to pull out of the deal unless a list of concessions a mile long was made.

Heads bowed close over the paper, Adler and Castiel examined each carefully, accepted a few, rejected most, demanded their own concessions, and CCed Joshua on the lot.

The congratulatory e-mail they got from Joshua soothed Castiel's worries that they were pushing too hard, eased his work-related stress, gave him hope that he'd not have any bad dreams that night.

His hope proved futile.

 _I could call Gilda._

 _No._

 _I could ask to be punished._

 _No._

 _I could rejoin SextersAnon and—_

 _No._

 _I could—_

 _No, no, no._

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear. Time had grown fuzzy, day blurring into night blurring into day, reason obscured by fatigue and stress and anger and more emotions than Castiel could deal with. The constant need to police his thoughts left him dull and distant. Alfie flinched every time Castiel looked at him; Castiel could only guess how hard his expression had grown under the demands of his rigid self-control.

A week had passed. Castiel doubted he'd slept more than three hours any night of it, and fatigue and anxiety ate at his tenuous control.

It didn't matter. He had to keep moving forward. There was no other choice.

 _Yes there is. I could—_

 _No!_

 _Punishment could absolve these sins, leave me clean, leave me pure, leave me ready to face the long years of a celibate, solitary life._

… _maybe…_

The office was locked on Sunday, but Adler had given Castiel a key. There was no working on the contract until the Industrial Alliance CFO replied to them; evidence suggested that unlike the Sandover executives, the IA staff felt no compulsion to work ludicrous hours. However, there was always more to do, so much to do. Several international deals stood in limbo; Anna had sent Castiel three tentative proposals for his review; Hannah had screwed up an invoice and Castiel had to not only fix her mistake but also soothe all the feathers she'd ruffled; the list went on and on, e-mail after e-mail until they blurred together, the minutes and hours passing quickly.

 _To: castieljnovak at sandover dot com_

 _From: sandyblueeyes100 at_

 _Sent: Nov 20 12:14:58_

[IMAGE 1]

 _The first of many._

Confronted by the image unexpectedly, Castiel's carefully constructed walls shattered.

" _I'm sorry to do this to you, Castiel," Naomi said, voice thick with sadness and contrition though her face was as expressionless as ever._

 _The whip cracked as it hit his back._

" _Eleven!"_

 _Behind him, he could hear heavy breathing, male breathing, at the effort the unknown dom wielding the flogger put in to beating him._

" _You promised me that you would hand in all of your assignments on time, but I heard from Professor Boyle that your term paper was an hour late," she continued impassively. The sharp leather tail struck his back again and he screamed the next number out. God, it hurt. He liked it, though, he liked it a lot, his cock was hard and dripping and that was_ sick _, what was wrong with him, why was he enjoying this so much?_

 _Wait – wait – his paper was late? No it wasn't, he'd adhered to the schedule perfectly, he had, Naomi had promised him that if he completed all his term papers and finals and earned at least an A minus on all of them, she would give him a week unlike anything he'd dreamed of over the winter holiday. They'd only been together a little over a month but he already wanted that, craved that,_ needed _that._

" _And you were doing so well," she bemoaned as the thirteen strike fell. Castiel sobbed, head lolling forward. Chains supported his weight, affixed to a hook in the ceiling. His arms were held uncomfortably over his head, barely enough slack on the restraints for him to rest on his knees. His entire body twisted uncontrollably every time a whip strike fell. "I had such plans for you, Castiel. I was so looking forward to them. But now…"_

" _No!" he moaned. He'd been good, he'd tried so hard, so so hard. He'd pulled his grades out of the dumps with only half the semester to work with. How could he screw it up over such a small mistake?_

 _God, he was such an idiot._

" _Hush now," Naomi said, laying a smooth, cool hand on his burning cheek. "I know you want to be a good boy for me, right, Castiel?" He nodded desperately. He did, God he did, he_ had _to be good for her. It was the only way he knew he was good, the only proof he had that he was worth anything at all "If you take the rest of your punishment, I'll forgive you. Would you like that?" He nodded again. "In that case, you must do your very best to impress me, okay?"_

 _The whip struck his back again, his skin tore, blood splattered on the ground before him, but Castiel didn't scream. He didn't writhe. He gritted his teeth, tensed his muscles to still himself, and with every ounce of willpower he possessed he said, "Fourteen."_

 _Nothing was more important than taking the punishment he'd earned. Nothing was more important than impressing Naomi._

 _He glanced over his shoulder and—_

The memory dissolved into the comparatively dull present. Castiel was on his feet before the thoughts possessing him fully processed.

 _I deserve to be punished. I need to be punished. Punishments are not to be enjoyed. Punishments are a means of earning forgiveness through suffering._

Zachariah Adler could punish him.

As if in a dream, as if still lost in a memory, Castiel left his small office, crossed the large open space fronting the elevators, the only furniture in the room Alfie's currently-vacant desk and a row of chairs for waiting visitors. Without hesitation, without thought, without doubt, Castiel knocked on Adler's door.

"Come in," Adler's voice was muffled by thick wood but still set Castiel's teeth on edge.

 _I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. I don't want – don't want –_

 _The whole point of punishment is that one does not want it, one does not desire it, one does not enjoy it. That's why it's punishment._

 _And I_ know _I deserve to be punished._

Castiel pushed the door open, eyes dazzled by the brilliant sunshine streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and crossed the rich, dark carpeting. Shifting his feet uncomfortable, gaze fixed on the gleaming polished mahogany of a blocky executive desk, Castiel waited for Adler to acknowledge his presence. He'd known that Adler would be here, though even Sandover employees rarely worked on Sunday's. Adler was an overachiever. Adler was powerful, strong, determined, controlling, domineering, aggressive. Adler expected the best from those he worked with to an obnoxious extent, but at least he expected the best from himself, as well. Adler wasn't the sort to expect anyone to work on a Sunday unless he working on Sunday as well.

In retrospect, Castiel was a fool not to have recognized Adler as the dom from his past.

Waiting for Adler to look up from his work, Castiel felt wonderfully calm. It was different from the imposed order that had regulated Castiel's thoughts for the past week. Expectation filled Castiel. Many times, he'd been taken by surprise by the administration of punishment. Many times, he'd wondered if he truly deserved what Naomi and her friends did to him. But when Castiel knew he'd done wrong? There was no feeling in the world like understanding the consequences for misbehavior, accepting them, suffering through them, being purified by them.

"Ah, Novak," Adler looked up, eyes glittering coldly, and gave Castiel a toothy smile. "How may I help you this afternoon?"

"I'd like you to punish me, sir."

Adler's smile broadened until a genuine grin. Pushing away from the desk, Adler rose, walked all the way around Castiel, assessing and predatory. Silence sat heavy in the room, wound tension tighter and tighter in Castiel's body, but his thoughts remained clear. This was appropriate. This was what Castiel was supposed to do. This was what Castiel _needed_ to do.

"Naomi always told me you were such a good boy, Castiel."

Horror and sickness churned Castiel's stomach.

 _Punishment is meant to be unpleasant. That's why it's punishment._

 _This is exactly what I deserve._

* * *

Castiel woke up to cold discomfort, sprawled on the dark tiles of the 20th floor executive bathroom. It was a lovely room, gleaming, pristine, with tiles on the floor and walls in dark browns and golds.

 _A powerful hand on the back of his head pushed him down, shoved his face into the glittering white porcelain toilet bowl._

Castiel doubted he'd ever be able to set foot in the bathroom again.

 _He could fight back, but he'd asked for this, he'd requested that Adler discipline him. He might be able to overpower Adler but if he rebuked his well-deserved punishment he'd never feel better, he'd never stop feeling guilty._

Castiel didn't feel better.

 _His arm tingled to numbness as electric current jolted him over and over._

He was _supposed_ to feel better.

 _A hard cock in thrusted hard in his ass, brutally hard and fast._

Come and blood and toilet water made a puddle that contrasted disgustingly with the immaculate room, soaked into Castiels sodden shirt and jacket, soaked into the waistband of Castiel's pants where they caught around his thighs. Adler hadn't bothered to pull them down further and hadn't bothered to pull them back up when he was finished.

… _can't breathe, can't breathe, let me out of the water, please…_

A sob bubbled out of Castiel uncontrollably. Hands shaking, he clenched them into tight fists, nails digging into his palms. At least that small pain helped distract from the terrible ache in his body left by near-drowning alternating with electrocution.

"… _always take your punishments so well…"_

Adler was gone.

" _Naomi was devastated when you left. She looked everywhere for you. She'd be thrilled to know I found you. Ever wonder why I haven't told her? You owe me, Castiel. Never forget that you owe me. I could tell her any time."_

Why had Castiel thought that doing a scene with Adler would help him feel better? How could he have forgotten how awful it felt to be with someone who only wanted to use him?

 _Water splashed and rushed past his ears as Adler dunked him before Castiel could form the first syllable of 'magnolia.'_

How could Castiel have confused this with what he had with Dean?

… _cock thrusting, water in his lungs, can't breathe…can't breathe…_

He'd been right all along. Castiel should have trusted Dean, should have trusted Charlie and Gilda. The only untrustworthy one, the only liar, the only one not playing by the rules was Castiel.

… _somebody help me, please help me – Dean, Dean, please…_

He'd brought this on himself. Unlike his time with Naomi, when his perception grew so warped he could no longer sort out what he wanted from what she required of him, there were no excuses this time. Castiel had asked Adler to punish him – asked Adler to torture him – consented to everything Adler suggested.

… _and then nothing…_

Weak-limbed, Castiel struggled to get his arms under him, struggled to support his weight. Lifting himself up partway, his hands suddenly slid on water-slickened tiles and he smashed back to the floor, teeth tearing into his lip. The sour copper taste of blood flooded his mouth and he sobbed again, splattering the tiles before him with red that slowly diffused into the water that had overflowed as Adler dunked him over and over.

 _No one is going to help me. That's not how Naomi played. It's not how Adler plays. The scene is for them to have fun. The aftermath is for me to deal with. At no point do I actually matter to them. At no point do I actually matter to anyone._

… _a warm blanket, a pleasant voice talking him through a bath, a smiling face over Skype keeping him company as he ate, a loose self-tie simulating embracing arms, a snuggly stuffed cat held in his arms, pillows cradling him to sleep…_

 _Dean isn't Naomi. Dean is nothing like Naomi._

 _I mattered to Dean._

 _And I told him to never contact me again._

Tucking his legs up towards his chest, folding his arms under his head, Castiel wept in to the damp sleeves of his suit jacket.

* * *

The floor was cold.

It didn't matter.

His clothing was clammy and wet.

It didn't matter.

Everything hurt.

It didn't matter.

His eyes were gritty with tears.

It didn't matter.

His ass hung out of his pants, cold and sore.

It didn't matter.

The hour had grown late enough that the building lights had been turned off, plunging the bathroom into darkness.

It didn't matter.

None of it mattered.

Castiel didn't matter.

He'd cried until he had no tears left, cried until his throat ached, cried as he'd never permitted himself to his entire life, not even when Naomi was cruel to him, not even when he finally left her.

 _I need help_.

The thought was clear as a claxon in his exhausted, pained thoughts.

 _But there's no one to help me_. _There's never been anyone to help me._

Dragging himself upright, head spinning, Castiel moved as if he were a robot, actions mindless and rote. He got to his feet, pulled up his pants, straightened his coat sleeves as if his jacket hadn't been ruined by snot and tears and blood and toilet water. His steps were slow and shaky, but he was moving. He had to move. He couldn't stay on the bathroom floor forever.

 _I can't stay on the bathroom floor forever, can I?_

One foot in front of the other.

That was how he'd gotten through the first few weeks after he left Naomi, and it was how he'd get through his evening now.

 _There's no one to help me because I pushed my only friends away._

 _Why am I even bothering to try? What do I have left?_

The conventional answers came to him as he stood in the elevator, waiting idly for it to take him to the first floor. He had his job, his responsibilities, his family, the charitable causes he could support by continuing to work and earn. Those things had been enough for him for fifteen years.

They were empty. Meaningless.

The walk from the office to his new hotel, the Omni, was short, endless, agonizing, yet somehow over in an instant. The headlights of passing cars formed fractals in Castiel's broken vision, stunned him mercifully senseless. Stepping into the lovely lobby, he caught his reflection and nearly gagged. There was blood coating his chin, red tear streaks staining his cheeks, and his hair was a mess of tufts sticking out in all directions amid sections matted to his head. Round bruises blossomed on his neck, throat and chin. His jacket hung limp and undone, still damp, the top buttons of his shirt had been snapped off, and his tie hung loose and askew.

"Good Lord, sir!" exclaimed the woman working the reception desk. "Are you alright? Do you need me to call the police?"

He looked like an assault victim.

 _She thinks something happened to me that I didn't ask for. No one in their right mind would agree to be treated as Adler treated me. But I consented. I'm so much more broken than I ever imagined._

The woman was picking up the phone, watching him horrified, and Castiel realized he stood before her, unable to find any words. "I'm fine," he said hollowly. "I don't need help. I did this to myself." Belatedly, he added, "thank you." Slowly, she set the phone down, staring amazement as he forced his back straight and walked by her with an absurd semblance of dignity.

 _Maybe I should have let her call the cops._

He got on the elevator.

 _I need help._

He pressed the button for his floor.

 _There's no one to help me._

The doors closed with a ping and the elevator hummed softly as it carried him to the twelfth floor.

 _I'm alone._

With another ping, the doors opened on to the long, dimly lit hallway, soothing gray walls and dark carpet doing nothing to ease Castiel's mind.

 _I'm too twisted to maintain relationships or have friends._

Though he'd only been in the hotel for a few days, his steps led him to the door to his room as if he'd made the trek for a lifetime.

 _But I need help._

The lock clicked as he put his keycard in and pulled it out.

 _I need Dean._

He stepped into his room, tears silently splashing down his face.

 _I_ need _Dean._

His knees crumpled beneath him and he fell to the floor, the back of his head slamming against his door.

 _Help me – help me, somebody help me, somebody – anybody…_

 _Gilda_.

Desperate fingers scrambled at his pockets, found his wallet and the folded up letter. The paper tore as he pulled it out, damp as all of him was damp, the ink smudged and cloudy but still legible. Laying it out carefully on the carpet of the floor, he dug out his cell phone only to find it unresponsive, destroyed like Castiel's suit was destroyed, destroyed like Castiel's tie was destroyed, destroyed like Castiel was destroyed.

 _No, but I need help, I need help, I need…_

Seizing the ragged paper in one hand, Castiel half-crawled, half-stumbled to the room phone. The sheet tore when he unbunched it, but the number was intact and he dialed it frantically before he could convince himself not to.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

He moved hopelessly to set the handset down on the receiver.

"Hello?" Gilda's voice bore the puzzled note of someone receiving a phone call from a number they didn't recognize. In the background, Castiel could hear indistinct voices, a man, a woman, maybe a television?

 _I'm inconveniencing her. I'm a bother. She's not my friend, no one is my friend, no one cares what happens to me, no one_ should _care what happens to me because I did this to myself. I did all of this to myself. I'm disgusting, dirty, tainted, lost, broken, destroyed, aw—_

"Hello? Who's there?" She sounded alarmed, frightened even.

He wanted to tell her not to worry, not to be scared, her past hadn't caught up to her, not like Castiel's had. However, all he could do was croak, "I need help."

"Who is this?" Concern swamped out puzzlement and fear.

"Please, I need help," whispered Castiel. He curled up on himself, head resting on his knees, phone propped against his ear. His hands clutched at his calves, only the cloth of his pants protecting him from breaking skin as he dug his nails in.

"Cas!" she exclaimed. The background noise instantly silenced. "Oh my God! Are you alright? Where are you?"

"I…" A whimper escaped him. Pain and fatigue and shame and unending self-recrimination made it impossible for him to answer. "Please…" His voice broke on a sob.

"Okay..." She huffed out a loud breath. "Okay, just, stay on the line with me, okay? Okay. I'm not going anywhere. I know you left the Joule, but I'll find you, okay? I'll find you." Castiel tried to answer, but he couldn't. Sobs smothered his voice. He wasn't supposed to need help. Asking for help was tantamount to asking for further punishment.

 _No! Gilda is not Naomi. Charlie is not Naomi. Dean_ is not _Naomi._

"Pl…ea…"

"You're going to be okay, Cas – gimme one sec, okay?"

Rustling came loud through the earpiece, followed by muffled speaking. Between crying and whatever was blocking the sound, Castiel could only make out scattered words, none of which added up to anything coherent. There was more rustling, and then, "I'm back. You still there?"

He couldn't reply, only sniffle and cry.

"I can hear you – I'm with you, Cas, I've got you. I need you to listen to me, okay?" Her voice was lovely, soft and warm and lilting. "Whatever happened, it's not your fault, and you're going to be alright. You did the right thing by calling me. No one is angry with you. No one is going to punish you. I've been so worried; it's such a relief to hear your voice. You…" The words blurred together as he continued to weep. She was wrong. It was his fault. He shouldn't be bothering her. She should be angry with him. Everyone should be angry with him. He should be punished.

He _had_ been punished, and even that hadn't helped.

He was past help.

He couldn't be saved.

Gilda's litany of reassurance cut off as he interrupted her with a wail he couldn't repress.

"I'm sorry," he choked out.

"You don't owe me an apology," she resumed her calm, caring tone. "You don't owe me anything. I _want_ to help, Cas. You're my friend. I'll be there soon, okay? Just promise me you won't hang up the phone." She silenced.

 _I should hang up. I'm an inconvenience. Helping me is a bother. She doesn't owe me anything. I've been a terrible friend._

"Promise me, Cas."

"I pro…pro…promise," he managed.

"Good boy," she said warmly. Castiel sobbed. "I'll take care of you, I promise. I'll never hurt you. Worthy, deserving…" Each word brought more tears, more pain, more anguish, but Gilda kept talking and Castiel listened as best he could. Sometimes her words faded out as the noise in his head grew so loud that he could hear nothing else. Other times, he thought she might be speaking to someone else: he could hear other voices but he couldn't assign meaning to them. Time ceased to mean anything. She might have been repeating herself or she might have said nothing at all or she might be speaking for the first time. He wasn't sure any more and couldn't muster the energy to care. It was all he could do to stay on the line with every instinct screaming for him to hang up, terrified of what the consequences would be for his breakdown.

 _No. It'll be alright. Gilda is a sub like me. She's not a dom. She's not Naomi. She's not Charlie or Dean. She won't punish me._

There was a rap on his door. He heard the echo through the phone earpiece.

"Cas, can you open the door for me?"

Gilda had done it. She'd actually found him, just as she'd said she would.

 _How?_

He couldn't move. He was destroyed, naked and exposed. Being seen in such a state, so completely out of control of himself, would be as agonizing as his injuries.

"Okay…okay…if I can get a key, do you mind my coming in?"There was a protracted silence. "I need you to answer me."

"Fine." It was a lie. It wouldn't be fine. It would be awful.

But he _needed_ help.

"Good – you're doing good, you're doing great. I'll have the key in a few minutes. Stay with me…"

If she had a conversation with the hotel staff, Castiel didn't hear it. The flow of her supportive words continued, the only thing he could hold on to.

Another voice broke through, loudly enough for Castiel to make it out clearly.

"Got the key," said a man. Said _Dean_.

With a panicked gasp, Castiel slammed the phone onto the receiver so hard that the ringer clanged.

 _Dean's here. My dom is here. He's going to punish me, he's going to trap me, he's going to be angry, so angry, I can't, I can't, I can't…_

Panting in over-quick huffs, Castiel scrambled across the floor, hands burning on the coarse rug. His nose was clogged, his throat so thick with gunk that he could hardly draw breath. His back slammed into the wall and he skittered down it until he found a corner he could tuck himself into.

 _They've found me, they've found me, Naomi and Zach and Dean and everyone, they're going to hurt me, make me go back, and I can't…_

There was a firm knock on the door. "Cas? Cas, I'm coming in, okay?" The terrifyingly familiar voice of a woman was muffled by the door.

 _No, no, no, no, don't let him in here, don't let him near me, don't let her near me, she'll hurt me, she'll never forgive me, there is no punishment harsh enough to earn forgiveness for what I've done!_

A series of clicks presaged the door opening. Terrified, Castiel pressed his forehead to his knees and tried to get his breathing under control before he passed out. If Naomi was going to take him, he wanted to be conscious, he wanted to be awake. He could still fight back.

He'd never been able to before, but he _could_. He had to. He couldn't go back.

"Cas?" A woman's voice. Not Naomi.

 _Gilda. That's Gilda. She's here because I called her. She's here because I'm pathetic and I asked for help._

"Dean, no!"

The world was the rough blackness of his gritty, aching eyes pressed wide open against his legs, fabric scratching at the eyeballs.

 _Strong people don't ask for help._

The world was a rushing sound in his ears, crying and a pounding heartbeat and his frantic breaths and layer upon layer of damning whispers from the past.

 _No. She's not here to help. She brought Dean. She brought Naomi. I can't trust them. I can't trust any of them._

The world was the taste of his blood in his mouth made tacky by snot.

 _But Adler and Naomi…Dean never did anything like that…_

The world was the smell of fetid water mingled with Adler's cologne.

 _But he might, he might someday. I can never be sure. I can never trust myself. I can never take the chance. I can never slip. I can never make a mistake. I can't – I can't…_

"Breathe, Cas!" A gruff voice barked in his ear, broke through Castiel's embattled senses.

With a deep, vocal inhalation, Castiel jerked his head up. Blurry, dark vision took in Dean, kneeling before him, expression intense and frightening; Gilda stood just behind, fidgeting, brow furrowed, eyes tear-filled.

"No," Castiel moaned, shaking his head. The world was spinning, spinning—

"Breathe in," ordered Dean. _I need to obey – he's right, I need to breathe, I need air, I'm panicking, this is panic…should I be panicking? I should, I should be, right? He's going to – Dean is here and he's going to—_ "Breathe out." Dean exaggeratedly demonstrated, exhaling so dramatically his whole body appeared to deflate. Thus reduced, he was far less intimidating. At least until – "Breathe in!" – and Dean swelled once more. Castiel did his best to listen, whimpers of distress catching in his throat. A deep breath snagged in saliva and he coughed, splattering his knees with spit. "That's fine, that's okay. Come on Cas, we're gonna breathe out again."

 _He doesn't sound angry._

With that realization came the first glimmer of reason that Castiel had felt in hours – days, maybe. As difficult as it was, he let his breath go. "Good – you're doing great, okay, now, breathe in." Taking a big gulp of air, Castiel swooned against the wall. "May I touch you, Cas?"

 _Yes…no…yes…no…I don't know, I don't know what to do, tell me what to do, tell me—_

"Breathe out."

 _I can do that…I can…I can be good…please don't punish me…please don't hurt me anymore…_

"Breathe in."

 _He's not touching me – why isn't he touching me?_

"Breathe out."

 _Because he asked my permission and will not touch me unless I grant it._

"Breathe in."

 _Because he cares about what I want, what I'm comfortable with, and has never crossed that line._

"Breathe out."

 _But why is he here, why did Gilda tell him where to find me, why did they betray me again?_

"Stay with me, Cas. I know you can do this. Breathe in."

 _It doesn't matter. He's here_.

"Breathe out."

 _And it's helping. He's helping. I can think. I can breathe._

"Breathe in."

 _My opinion matters to him._

"Breathe out."

 _What I want matters to him._

"Breathe in."

 _I matter to him._

"Breathe out."

 _Even after everything I've done, I still matter to him._

"Breathe in."

 _Oh God._

"Breathe out."

 _I don't deserve that, I don't deserve any of it, I don't deserve him, I don't—_

"Cas—"

"I'm sorry!" Castiel gasped, flinging himself across the short distance separating them. "I'm sorry." Startled, Dean barely got his arms up in time to catch him. "I'm sorry, Dean." Dean was warm and solid and strong and gentle and it was too much, far too much, so much more than Castiel was entitled to have. "I can't—" He had no right to touch, but he couldn't force himself to let go. "I shouldn't—" He hadn't asked permission, but he couldn't stop himself, he buried his face in the crook of Dean's neck and wept helplessly. "I _can't_." Powerful arms encircled Castiel, enfolded him protectively, and Castiel _shattered_.

"It's alright, Cas," murmured Dean, running a soothing hand down Castiel's back as he sobbed.

 _It's not alright, it'll never be alright, I'm repulsive and damaged and I hurt you, I know I hurt you, because I'm paralyzed and I'm broken beyond repair and—_

"May I take care of you, Cas?" asked Dean kindly. Unable to get any words out past his sobs, Castiel nodded emphatically against Dean's neck. "Thank you."

 _Dean is not Naomi._

 _Thank God._

Castiel pressed his face harder against Dean's skin and cried.

* * *

"Cas, would you like Gilda to stay?" Dean asked. Blinking back exhaustion, Castiel struggled to process the question, flickers of fear curling through him.

"You're not going to leave, are you?" Castiel said. His voice was wrecked, hoarse and scratchy, no louder than a whisper.

"No," Dean replied reassuringly. "I'll ask Charlie to come get her, if you'd rather she leave." In the hours since they'd arrived, Castiel had learned that Dean was there because Gilda had asked him to drive her so that she could stay on the phone with Castiel.

"As long as you stay," Castiel mumbled into the blankets. Gilda had made Dean promise not to try to see Castiel. He supposed he should be angry that Dean had violated that promise, gone against what he knew to be Castiel's wishes, but Castiel couldn't find the strength to be angry. He couldn't find the strength for anything. He was out of control, spent, empty, weak, lonely. He was ashamed to admit his needs, ashamed of himself and his behavior the entire day, but Dean only nodded.

"I'll text her and wait in the lobby," Gilda said. "Cas, you call me any time you need me." He nodded half-heartedly. "Any time!" she admonished.

"I—" _I can't, I couldn't, I shouldn't, I don't deserve, I—_

"Look at me, Cas," Dean interrupted Castiel's crumbling thoughts. Castiel looked up – _really_ looked, _really_ saw Dean for the first time, eyes dark in the dim lamp light of Castiel's room, firm planes of his face shadowed, cheeks stubbled.

 _He's so beautiful._

 _I want him so badly._

"Let's get through tonight, okay?" Dean caught and held his gaze. "We're good here, Gilda." Castiel didn't glance away from Dean, didn't watch her go, but he heard her murmured farewells and the door banged shut behind her. "Do you think you could sleep, if you tried?"

Burrowing into the pillows around him, Castiel considered the answer. He was warm and dry, clean, and he'd eaten a little. Dean had helped him with everything, while Gilda sat by his computer as a steady, reassuring presence, encouraging him with open smiles and kind eyes. Neither had said anything about his haggard appearance, his purpling bruises, the blood about his mouth, the disgusting mess of his ass—

"Breathe in, Cas," said Dean softly. _Stop thinking. It's okay. They've said it's okay. I believe them. I think I believe them_. _I have to try to believe them._ "And breathe out. Is there anything I can do to help you rest?"

 _I can't ask for—_

"Anything you need, Cas. I'm offering. Trust me to say _no_ if you ask for something I'm uncomfortable with."

"I trust you." A pained expression came over Dean's face and he broke eye contact, looked away. "I do, I really do. I'm so sorry, Dean."

"Not having this conversation right now," said Dean. The words were harsh, but the way Dean said them mitigated Castiel's fears. "What is it you want, Cas?"

"Would you hold me?" Castiel asked timidly. Dean started. "Only until I fall asleep – you don't have to stay the night or anything, it's fine if you don't want to, I mean—"

"Cas!"

"Yes, Dean?"

"It's fine." Dean broke into a warm smile, the first since he'd arrived, and Castiel thought that, years in the future, he'd be able to pinpoint this as the moment from which Dean owned him completely. "I'd, uh, I'd really like to hold you. All night. If that's what you want."

"It is," whispered Castiel.

The mattress bobbled and shifted as Dean moved, lifted the covers and slid in beside Castiel. The thin layer of Castiel's pajamas and thicker t-shirt and jeans that Dean yet wore did both too little and too much to separate them. Castiel didn't dare suggest that Dean change clothing, was frightened by how close they already were. Dean's heat was instantly soothing, and Castiel slumped back against the solid, supportive embrace.

 _This…this is wonderful._

A hesitant arm ghosted a gentle touch against Castiel's side and Castiel jumped. Dean snapped his hand back. "Sorry 'bout that." Tears prickled at the corner of Castiel's eyes, but he couldn't ask for Dean to bring the hand back, couldn't…reaching behind him, he groped down Dean's arm until he found his hand, threaded their fingers together and dragged Dean's arm around his middle. "Oh," breathed Dean, sighing long and low, relaxing against Castiel's back.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel said for at least the hundredth time that night. "I'm trying."

"I know you are, Cas," Dean said; Castiel could feel Dean's smile pressed against the back of his neck. "You're doing great."

Castiel could count and describe in detail the few times he'd pleased Naomi well enough that she stayed the night and shared his bed for more than sexual activities. Castiel had paid a ludicrously high price in return for her kindness in doing so. Dean asked nothing of him. Dean _wanted_ to share his bed, wanted to hold Castiel all night.

 _Dean is not Naomi_.

"Dean?" asked Castiel hesitantly.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"Would you…would you call me Castiel? That's…my name is Castiel Novak."

"Sure, Castiel." Dean brushed a kiss against the back of Castiel's neck. Castiel shivered, and Dean shimmied nearer to him, drew Castiel as close as possible, slipped a knee between Castiel's legs.

Even if nothing else happened it was already, somehow, inconceivably, the best night of Castiel's life, even following as it did on the heels of one of the worst days.

"Thank you, Dean. Thank you so much for everything."

Dean answered by splaying his hand over Castiel's heart, and warmth and comfort diffused through Castiel's body.

For the first time in weeks, Castiel slept well.

* * *

Endnote: In case you're wondering (since I don't expect it to come up in narrative): How did they find Cas? Well, waaaay back Adler called Castiel "Novak" when they encountered each other at Hack and Slash. Gilda and Charlie overheard so they've actually known Cas' last name all along. With Cas in crisis, they shared that information and Charlie and Dean started calling every hotel in the area, in a ring going out from the Joule - assuming that Castiel wouldn't have moved far from there. They called the front desks and asked to be connected to Cas Novak's room, and kept at it until one of the hotel's said "sure just wait one moment." Of course the phone didn't ring, because Castiel was on the phone with Gilda at the time. From there, Charlie found out Castiel's room number with her mad hacking skills, and Gilda and Dean sweet-talked their way into a copy of Castiel's room key.

So. That's how. Just so you know. :)


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm afraid I will be unable to come in to work today." Trembling, Castiel awaited Adler's reply. Dean gave him a heartening smile that failed to reassure him.

"Pathetic," snapped Adler. Castiel flinched. "If you can't to do your job, then what use are you to this organization? I will tell Joshua about your inadequacy, you can be sure."

 _I'm supposed to please him. I have to please him. Yesterday…_

… _was yesterday. And today is today. It was a one time thing and it will never be repeated. I thought it was the answer. It took trying to realize how wrong I was._

 _I will never do that again: not punishment, not with Adler._

 _And Dean…?_

 _No. Focus. I can do this. I have to do this._

Castiel took a shaky breath. "I have worked closely with Joshua since before your division _existed_. He is well aware of my work ethic and he will trust my self-assessment that I am unwell enough that my work will be impaired if I come in. Further, I have 138 accumulated sick days. Sandover will function without me for one day." Nodding approval, Dean shot Castiel a thumbs-up. Castiel managed a weak, lopsided smile in reply.

"Fine," Adler said; from his tone of voice, Castiel was sure Adler had rolled his eyes. "But I'll expect you here bright and early tomorrow."

"You're not my boss, Adler," said Castiel, surprised by his own vehemence and aggression. _I'm doing it – I'm standing up to my dom._

 _No. Adler is not my dom. Dean is my dom._

 _Or is he?_

Castiel had no idea. That was why he was taking the day off. There was so much he and Dean had to talk about.

 _It's not that I feel alright talking to Adler. It's that in contrast to how absolutely terrified I am of talking to Dean, talking to Adler seems easy._

Adler hung up without answering. Castiel set the phone down and stared at his lap. He could feel Dean's eyes on him, waiting, but couldn't bring himself to look up. Dean hadn't insisted on speaking today, but the weight of everything unsaid between them was unbearable now that they were in the same place.

Waking up had been a dream come true, literally. As soon as Castiel had come to himself enough to realize that Dean was _actually_ there, anxiety had choked him sick and he'd scrambled from bed. It had taken Dean ten minutes, and multiple apologies for intruding after Castiel had told him not to, before Castiel could be coaxed out of the bathroom.

"So."

Nervously, Castiel flicked his gaze up to meet Dean's eyes. In the bright light of morning streaming through the opened curtains, they were deep green, dazzling against Dean's skin. Castiel had thought Dean stunning – almost impossibly attractive – when they'd first "met" on Skype, but meeting him in person was something else again. Plush lips, tanned skin, freckled cheeks, even Dean's disheveled bed-head was alluring and perfect. It was inconceivable that Dean was _there_ , that Dean had stayed the night, that Dean had helped him. It was inconceivable that Dean was sprawled in the room's arm chair, elbows on his knees as he stared at Castiel intently. It was inconceivable that Castiel mattered to Dean.

"I'm sorry, sir," Castiel whispered. "I'll accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate for my behavior." Eyes glued to the floor, hands on his lap, Castiel sat meekly in the room's desk chair, heart thudding. Sitting put uncomfortable weight on his aching ass, reminded him unpleasantly of everything that had happened with Adler. Had it really only been 24 hours since he'd been punished?

 _God, I was such an idiot to think that would fix anything. All it's done is make everything worse._

Whatever happened next, he'd accept it. He was Dean's now. Yesterday had taught him that.

Dean said nothing. Castiel could feel the tension and anger in the air, compressing his chest, and his breathing picked up.

"You're serious," muttered Dean. Grimacing, Castiel glanced up quickly again but saw nothing in Dean's expression to tell him what Dean was thinking. Anxiety flared tight in Castiel's chest. "Shit…you really…Cas – Castiel – I'm not going to _punish you_. You used your safe word! You're obviously terrified! I've never been so fricken worried about someone in my life. What the fuck did I do to make you this fucking scared of me?"

Dean sounded…heartbroken?

"I'm sorry," Castiel repeated, unsure what else he had to offer.

"Don't be _sorry_ ," Dean exploded. Leaping to his feet, Dean strode past Castiel's chair. Castiel covertly looked up to watch his back; shoulders thrown back, legs slightly bowed, gorgeous ass that Castiel had seen so many times, now within reach, except…Dean raked a hand through his hair and rounded on him, face clouded with anger, and Castiel drew back into a contrite pose. "Jesus…Cas, what do you think you have to be sorry for? What do you think I'm going to do to you?"

"I safe worded," Castiel explained. He was familiar with this interaction. He knew what to say when his dom demanded to know what he'd done wrong. For the first time all day, they were interacting in a way Castiel understood. "I tried to cut off communication with you. I refused you when you came to see me. I…" Castiel trailed off. Dean was staring at him, eyes growing more shocked and jaw dropping further with each statement that Castiel made. "Sir?"

"Dean!" Dean said. "We talked about this. We're not in a scene! I'm just Dean, and you're just Cas. And…fuck… _none_ of that is what went wrong here!"

 _Oh no, I got it wrong. He's going to punish me. He's going to keep at me until I figure out what it was or until I pass out and—_

 _NO! DEAN IS NOT NAOMI._

"Why didn't you tell me how much you struggled with anxiety? Why didn't you tell me I was hurting you? Why didn't you talk to me about _anything_ , Cas?" With each question, Castiel deflated further.

Dean _wanted_ to know those things? Why?

"I never wanted to hurt you – I mean, except in ways that you consented to!" Dean pressed on. The longer Castiel listened, the more convinced he grew that Dean wasn't _angry_ so much as frustrated, exasperated, upset. There was no tension of imminent violence in the room, no feeling that they stood on a precipice and that at any given moment Dean might lash out. There was only Castiel's burgeoning fears and Dean's aggressive desire to know what was going on. "That was the whole fucking point! I spent ten fricken years dreaming of meeting someone like you, someone I couldn't break by accident just because I wanted to fucking tear you apart, someone who wanted to bleed as badly as I wanted to see them bleed. I thought you wanted that too, and then I went and broke you anyway and I don't even know what I did wrong!" There was such intense _earnestness_ on Dean's face, it made Castiel's chest hurt. Hands flapping ineffectually, Dean paced back and forth, jittery, and then threw himself back into the armchair. "Castiel, _who is Naomi_?"

Shocked, Castiel blinked. "How do you even know that name?" Dean had asked him about Naomi once before, what felt like a lifetime ago, but Castiel hadn't had the strength to ask then.

"During our second scene, when you were…when you were _way_ into it, deep in subspace or whatever, you said I wasn't Naomi," Dean explained, leaning forward, beautiful eyes fixed on Castiel. "This is about her, isn't it? Whoever the fuck she is? Did she hurt you yesterday?"

"Dean, I—"

"Wait," Dean interrupted, holding up a hand. Dutifully, Castiel snapped his mouth shut. "Castiel, I gotta say something first, and you have _got_ to believe me. If you don't believe me, I don't want you to say another word, and we can fuckin' figure out what _that_ means and deal with it. I'm not your dom right now. I'm just Dean. I care about you." Shaking his head slightly, Castiel frowned. "And that right there? That reaction? That's what I want to understand. Dude, I have been telling you for _months_ that I think you're fucking mind-blowingly awesome and, what, you still thought I was pissed that you safe worded? If Naomi is who got you thinking that, I want to fuckin' destroy her. You're a masochist, not a doormat, and I'm a sadist, but that doesn't make me, like, sadistic. Cas, I get off on hurting you, sure, but it's because I know you get off on being hurt! It's not just about causing you pain – it's about causing you pain _that you enjoy_. So if you're not into it? There's no fricken point. Anyway. I…uh…I kinda lost the thread there. The point is, if you _want_ to tell me, if you want to work this shit out, then talk. But if you're gonna tell me shit just because you're thinking, 'Dean's my dom and I have to tell him because he asked?' I'd rather you keep your mouth shut. Consider that your orders, if you have to – your friend Dean wants to know, wants to help; your dom Dean wants you to keep your damn mouth shut and not share anything you don't want to share. Got it?"

"Yes…Dean," Castiel acquiesced.

Did he _want_ to tell Dean the truth?

 _If he knows, what will he think of me?_

 _If I didn't still want him as my dom, it wouldn't matter what he thinks of me. But it'd also not be any of his business._

 _What_ do _I want?_

The heater clicked on, the rush of air the only sound in the room for long minutes. Castiel's thoughts raced in endless circles as he chased the answer to his conundrum. He had never told _anyone_ what Naomi did to him. The only people who knew were those who were there. Telling Dean the truth would mean admitting it all, acknowledging it all, confessing that he had _enjoyed_ so much of what was done to him.

 _But Dean enjoys many of the same things. Our kink lists match. So…_

"S'ok if I say something while you think it over?" asked Dean quietly. Castiel nodded, only half listening. "Is Naomi…do you mean Naomi Tapping?" Castiel's stomach rebelled and he gagged trying to hold his breakfast down. "I'm gonna take that as a yes."

 _Dean isn't, he's not, he's not Naomi, I know he's not—_

"Do you know Naomi?" Castiel asked, voice strangled.

"We've met," Dean snapped. Castiel cowered, unable to stop himself. "Woah, woah, not pissed at you. She is…okay. Maybe I should…it was wrong of me to ask you to talk to me when there's shit I've kept hidden, too. So I'll start the sharing and caring. Ya know everyone gets into the life in one way or another. For me, well, his name was Alastair. Said he _saw something_ in me. Never did figure out what the fuck that meant, it's not like there was a sign on my forehead that said _sadist_ and at the time I had no idea I might enjoy something like that. Fuck, the very idea of it made me kinda sick, like, why would I want to hurt someone else? What's hot about that? 'cept, Alastair invited me to sit in as he worked with some of his subs, and it was hot. It was _really_ fuckin' hot. Even when they were screaming and fuckin' begging him to stop I _still_ thought it was hot. So when you told me that you felt like you were busted for enjoying the shit you enjoy? I've been there, Cas. I so feel ya on that. Alastair didn't care much whether people wanted to get hurt or not. Not gonna lie, I still have nightmares about some of the stuff he did…some of the stuff we did together…" Dean roughly blew out, rubbed his eyes harshly.

"After we split, I stayed a dom but I dumped the sadism. I learned shibari cause it scratched a lot of the same itches – I could hold someone, bind them, even hurt them a little, but without doing any lasting harm. For a while, that was enough, but it never lasted. And when the people I dated—" Castiel started. _Dated? Like, had an actual relationship? With his subs?_ "—found out about the sadism part, they left." Dean smiled sadly. "Everyone fuckin' leaves, Cas. I couldn't take it anymore so I stopped having relationships. Built up my photography business instead. Focused on models and workin' with other people's subs and teaching classes on shibari and tried to ignore my own desires. They never got me anything but trouble." Castiel nodded slowly. Everything Dean said was familiar, achingly familiar, but skewed to the dom's point of view. "That's how I ended up on SextersAnon. I couldn't find a masochist around KC who I synced well with, but I figured way more people are interested in the _idea_ of pain and being a sub than _actually_ get off on getting cut up. So if the whole relationship was anonymous and the acts were just being described instead of actually being done, surely I could find someone who'd want to play around. But when I saw your pictures? Shit." Dean blew out again, took a deep breath. "You…No. I shouldn't. You gotta make your decision and I'm gonna try to stop saying shit that influences you."

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Dean," Castiel whispered. There'd been no mention of Naomi in Dean's tale, but his story clarified much of how Dean had behaved. Dean was so worried about pushing Castiel further than he wanted to go, so careful of Castiel's boundaries.

"Fuck, man, I should be saying that to you," Dean answered, looking inexplicably abashed. "I shoulda known that I shouldn't…I mean…"

"You couldn't have known," said Castiel firmly. "I didn't tell you. I didn't tell you anything."

There was a pause as Castiel gathered himself and Dean watched with a semblance of patience. Castiel opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, snapped it shut. He couldn't…he still couldn't.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean said softly. "One other thing…don't lie to me again, okay? Whatever you tell me – whatever you don't tell me – if you can't tell me the truth don't even fuckin' bother. Cause I can't keep doin' this with you. I like you. I really like you. Even knowing nothing about you…maybe it's just lust, I don't fuckin' know, but I wouldn't be here if I didn't care."

Silence stretched out between them. The longer it went, the more oppressive and unbreakable it felt. Finally, Castiel said, "how did you know Naomi, Dean?"

"She and Alastair were friends," Dean explained. "We drove up to Illinois to do a few…demonstrations…at her place. She'd invite a whole bunch of her dom friends over, and they'd all bring their subs, and Alastair would…and I'd…well…" Dean licked his lips nervously, looked up at Castiel, looked away. "When were you…I mean…did you…Cas, did I…?"

"I don't recall anyone named Alastair," Castiel said. "And if I'd ever met you before, Dean, I can't imagine I'd be capable for forgetting you." He managed a wan smile to accompany the words and Dean blushed. "I was with Naomi from 1997 until 2002."

"That pre-dates me," Dean said, relieved. "Thank God. I wouldn't want to think that I…that we…I mean, that doesn't make the things that I did okay, but…it shouldn't be different if it had been you, but it _is_ …at the time, what I saw there seemed normal. It wasn't until I was away from Alastair and I met other doms and learned more about how things _should_ work that I realized just what a fucked up situation it was." Expectant, Dean looked up at Castiel.

 _That's it. That's my opening. Dean has seen Naomi's, seen what it's like there, and he's not judging, he's…_

The intensity of Dean's gaze fell on Castiel like a great weight. Rolling his shoulders in a futile effort to relax, Castiel tried to speak once more, failed, and finally found words. "I was a sophomore in college. She was my professor freshman year, and I had a second class with her in fall semester. You have to understand, I was young, and she was beautiful and brilliant and renowned. She saw I was struggling and she wanted to help. No one ever wanted to help, no one ever _could_ help, but she said she wanted to, and she…did things…" Castiel drew in a long, stuttering breath and tried again. "High school had been easy, even working full time while a student, and I had expected college to be the same. With two jobs I still couldn't make ends meet and pay tuition, and my classes were so hard. No one in my family could help – none of them had gone to college, no one had any money. I was on my own, completely on my own, and no one wanted to help. Except that Naomi did. She…" _She took me back to her office and blew me and blew my mind. I wasn't a virgin but I had no idea sex could feel that good_. "I just wanted to be worthy of her. I just wanted to be what she wanted."

"Cas…don't tell me anything you don't want to tell me," Dean repeated.

Castiel laughed sardonically. "Don't pretend that you'll be able to accept my continued silence, Dean," he said. "How can you work with a sub who can't be honest with you? How can you work with a sub who doesn't trust you?"

"Do you trust me, Cas?" asked Dean quietly, a pained grimace twisting his eyes with sadness.

"I want to," breathed Castiel. "I truly, truly do. But if you knew…" _If you knew the things she did to me, you'd see how dirty I am. If you knew the things she did to me, you might want to do them as well. If you knew the things we did together, it would be over regardless. If you knew how much I trusted her, you'd understand why I find it so difficult to trust anyone ever again_.

"My care for you – my desire to help – it's not conditional," Dean said. "Please don't take this as a 'tell me or else' scenario. You don't have to tell me."

"I want to," said Castiel. "But it's hard – it's tremendously hard. I've never told _anyone_. My parents think I was abducted into a crazy religious cult. All they know is that I showed up on their doorstep unannounced, half-starved and mostly crazy, after cutting off all communication with them and disappearing for two years. I couldn't tell them the truth."

"Which is?"

 _That I was weak and pathetic and Naomi tried to make me strong. That I couldn't be trained no matter what she did. That I'm a bad sub. That I'm…_ "Most days, I don't even know," Castiel admitted. "Sometimes it seems obvious that she crossed lines – that she knew…" He took a deep breath. _I've talked and talked and I haven't actually said anything yet. I have to show him that I'm serious. I have to show him that I'm trying_. "She knew that I didn't like it when she let her friends use me, but she permitted them to do so anyway. She knew that I enjoyed pain, so she found more…creative…ways to punish me. There are times when I reflect on that, and I think that she went too far intentionally, that she took advantage of me. When I learned about safe practice when you and I were first doing scenes together, it seemed so clear that what she and I did together didn't fall into the purview of 'Safe, Sane and Consensual' or 'Risk Aware Consensual Kink.' But other times I think…I consented. In the beginning, I did. I gave her control, granted her power, and thus negated my right to protest. I agreed to be hers to do with as she would. I have no right to be unhappy with the outcome of that decision."

"She punished you for using your safe word," said Dean. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," whispered Castiel.

"While you were in subspace, she forced you into situations she knew you didn't like after depriving you of the ability to escape them," continued Dean. Castiel nodded, crumpling in on himself. "She isolated you from your family for two years. She offered to help you and then turned that against you. She—"

"Stop."

"Cas—"

"Dean, I mean it," said Castiel.

"Sorry," mumbled Dean.

"You have to understand…you don't understand…Naomi was everything. She was _everything_. My world was circumscribed by her desires; the purpose of my existence was to be pleasing to her. The consequences for failing were catastrophic, but no matter how hard I tried I _always_ failed. I always fail, Dean. I can't do this. I can't."

"Do you want me to leave, Cas?"

"No!" exclaimed Castiel. "Please, no. I'm doing my best to be what – who – you want, Dean."

" _That's_ the problem," Dean said. "Cas, don't change yourself for me. I don't _want_ you to change yourself for me. I'm not trying to fix you or…or…or train you or something." Castiel flinched. "You don't need to be what I want. _I_ have to be what _you_ want. Or we have to be what each other wants. It's something we do _together_ , something we negotiate ahead of time, something that's good and enjoyable for both of us because we've talked about it. But I saw you right now – my use of the word 'training' hurt you. And I had no fricken idea it might do that. How many other things have I said – how many things have I done – that have inadvertently hurt you?"

"It's not your fault, Dean."

"I _know_ that, but it feels like – shit, it feels like all I've done is fuck up." Dean burst to his feet again and paced away. "I mean, some of it's been my fault. I shouldn't have pushed you. I shouldn't have shown up when I knew you didn't want to meet me. I shouldn't have…and I can't say sorry enough. That's not going to fix what's broken between us. I can't do this, either."

With a gasp, Castiel's breath snagged, his chest compressed, his vision blurred with sudden tears. _No, no please, please don't give up on me, please don't go…wait, what? I've been pushing him away, I've been trying to break this relationship, I haven't trusted him, this is my fault. And now that I've finally gotten him to give up on me…it hurts, it hurts so much._

"Cas, I can't be your dom," Dean reiterated. Catching his lip between his teeth, unable to look at Dean, Castiel nodded with resignation. "A dom/sub relationship requires absolute trust, and we obviously don't have that. I was an idiot to think that it would be possible long-distance and you got hurt as a result. I've hurt so many people – I can't do that anymore. I can't be that person. I don't _want_ to be a person who hurts others and doesn't give a shit."

"I understand, Dean," Castiel said sadly. "I've abused your trust. My weakness – my inability to overcome my deficiencies has rebounded to cause harm to you. That was never my intention. It was foolish of me to think that I could be a submissive again, knowing how damaged I am. I—"

"Woah, hold on Cas," Dean interrupted. "Don't throw yourself on your sword yet. And would you quit it with how weak and deficient and damaged you are? I don't think that – I don't think _any_ of that about you. You're the strongest sub I've ever met. You have so much potential—" Castiel shuddered. "Okay, so scratch 'training' and 'potential' off my vocabulary list. Good to know. Cas, I can't help you heal as your dom. Scenes have to be a safe, consensual place, and they _can't_ be that when there's the danger of any given interaction causing the kinds of reaction you keep having. Like, there are words that just set you off – take you back to some bad mojo – and I'm sympathetic but I can't risk both of us by continuing when we're vulnerable and I have no idea what your triggers are. While I'm your dom ain't the time to sort this shit out. There's no amount of doing scenes together that's gonna stop you from having random panic attacks."

"I _said_ I understand," scowled Castiel. "This…this oral gymnastics of self-justification isn't necessary, we—"

"I want to be your boyfriend, Cas!" Dean said in a rush.

Jaw agape, Castiel looked up at Dean. At some point, Dean had stopped pacing and now stood staring at Castiel with such… _hope_ …no, that couldn't be right.

"Dean…"

"You've got baggage," continued Dean, desperation tinging his voice. "I get that. Now, I get that. But – fuck, Cas – I've never met anyone like you. I want to get to know you better and – not gonna lie – I want you to fuck my brains out. I want to rebuild the trust between us. I want to help you – I want to support you while you get the help you need, cause dude, you clearly need more help than I can give you. But you don't have to go it alone. And when you're doin' better, we can try the dom/sub thing again."

"You're serious."

"Dead serious," agreed Dean. "I want a relationship. With you. Not as your dom. Just as Dean, the dude you met over the internet. I think you're hot and smart and, like, seriously committed to your job and you dig the same kinky shit that I do but…just…you need help. And that's fine. I needed help to." At Castiel's wide-eyed look, Dean gave him a lopsided grin. "I may have understated how badly being with Alastair fucked me up. So I found a therapist, and we talked it all out over the course of like five fucking years, and now I take one of these—" Dean pulled out his wallet and withdrew a baggie with small pills in it. "—every day. Prozac, man. Breakfast of champions. And it helps. It really helps. I still talk to Dr. Barnes every week. I don't know if your issue is depression or anxiety or PTSD or what. All I know is that scening with you has been the best thing I've had going in years and I don't want it to end just 'cause some raving lunatic psycho hose beast bitch fucked with your head. You're not broken, Cas. A little sick, maybe, but not busted beyond repair."

 _Therapy…meds…he thinks this is fixable? That I'm not deviant and disgusting beyond repair? Does he think Naomi is a mental illness?_

 _In the end, it's all the same. He thinks there's something wrong with me. He thinks he knows the magical way to solve it. There is something wrong with me. And there's no way to fix it. I'm cracked and have been since the day I was born._

 _Except…he's not Naomi. He's really not Naomi. Naomi said_ she _was the answer to every problem. If I was more like her, if I let her control me more, if I did more for her, if I strove ever on towards her ideal, if I followed her directions and trusted her implicitly than I wasn't beyond hope._

 _Dean doesn't promise any of that. Dean says the meds help, not that they solve every problem. He's suggesting I talk to someone else, not make him the center of my universe. He doesn't want me to keep secrets, doesn't want to isolate me, doesn't want to keep me. He's not offering to fix me. He's not calling me disgusting. He just wants to help._

"You're really nothing like her," Castiel murmured, catching Dean's eye and managing a weak smile. Dean's returning one was breathtakingly radiant. "You're…" He shook his head. He didn't have the words to describe Dean. What words he thought of terrified him, reminded him strongly of his initial reactions to Naomi – _beautiful, brilliant, strong, perfect, so perfect, how could you ever be interested in me?_ "It's not that I don't trust you, Dean." The happy look on Dean's face dimmed painfully. "Don't mistake me. You're right. I don't. But it's not about _you_. It's about _me_. Everything about you just seems so…so…so _perfect_ but I thought that before and I _cannot_ go through that again." Dean's smile returned, still restrained but once more hopeful, when Castiel called him perfect. "I don't trust _myself_ , Dean. I don't trust my assessment."

 _What if I could get fixed? What if I could better?_

 _No. I was drawn to Naomi because she offered a quick fix – a promise to magically repair everything that was wrong with me. Would therapy be the same? Would meds be the same? There is no magic bullet to seal the cracks that run through me._

 _No. Dean didn't say it would be magic. Dean didn't say it would be easy. He said it took him years and that he still is in treatment._

"It sounds like you still trust Naomi," said Dean bluntly. A hand seemed to choke at Castiel's throat. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I suck at keeping my mouth shut. I'm saying – she said all this shit to you, right? Come on Cas, stay with me – right, she filled your head with bull, didn't she?" Focusing on Dean's words, Castiel nodded, unsure what Dean was getting at. "So, you acknowledge she was full of it but you still believe what she told you. You don't think you're, what, deviant or some shit – that's just what _she_ said, isn't it?" All Castiel could do was stare. "Come on, work with me, Cas."

 _He's right, oh my God he is completely right. That voice that so often sounds like her, that says things that hurt me so terribly…I'm still listening to her. I left so many years ago but I'm still taking her assessment of me, of the world, over my own assessment._

"Fuck all that shit she said, and listen to what _I_ say. I'm, like, about a million times more awesome than she is? And I think you're fucking _awesome_." Dean beamed at him.

 _He is, he really is. He's so completely different from her. And he wants to be my dom. He wants to be my boyfriend._

 _What do I want?_

"I…really want to kiss you right now," said Castiel, coloring and looking away. Dean chuckled.

"Don't hold back on my account." Dean gave him a wicked grin that fell away in startlement as Castiel launched himself from his chair to land awkwardly against Dean, pressing their lips together sloppily. Dean's mouth was soft, a contrast to Castiel's lips chapped by his constant swims in chlorinated water. Their noses bumped, their teeth clicked, Dean caught Castiel by the elbows, held him up and leaned in to him passionately, a warm, solid wall of strength. As large and muscular as he was, Dean's physical presence _could_ have been intimidating, but it wasn't. He was a like a cuddly bear – _or a snuggly stuffed cat?_ – and Castiel wanted to bury himself in Dean's acceptance. Touching Dean now was nothing like it had been the night before; where last evening had been chaste, calm, defined by care and consideration, this was hot and desperate, lips meeting, tongues flicking together, Dean nearly trembling with self-restraint. Part of Castiel wanted to demand that Dean not hold back – _push me around, slam me into the bed, take whatever you want, Dean, I'm yours_ – but the previous week had shaken Castiel. He was still unsure, still frightened, still dull and achy after Adler's treatment the day before—

Castiel tore away from Dean's embrace, breathing hard. "Yesterday—" He choked and coughed, disgusted with himself. _How dare I accept any of Dean's kindnesses after what I did?_ "I was…I was with someone. Someone else."

"I know," said Dean. Castiel looked at him in shock _again_. "I mean, I assumed…"

"And you're not upset?" asked Castiel.

"We never said we were exclusive, Cas," Dean replied, rolling his eyes. "I'm upset because it's obvious whoever it was treated you like total shit. And I'm upset because you went to someone who hurt you rather than simply _talking to me_. But…well, staying upset with you ain't gonna get us anywhere. Now, that said – you tell me who hurt you and I will fucking _destroy them_ if you want."

"I can take care of myself, Dean," said Castiel.

"Fuck – 'course you can," Dean rolled his eyes again. "Dude, you're like some bigwig corporate executive whose job takes him all over the world or some shit. You could take care of all your employees and whoever the heck you work with and me and probably have enough energy left to take care of a few other people to boot. But that doesn't mean I don't want to fuck up someone who hurt you."

" _Why_?" asked Castiel. Dean was too impossible. No one could be as amazing as Dean. _He's not, it's a lie, he'll hurt you too, just wait and see…_

"Because you don't deserve to be hurt?" said Dean as if he couldn't believe Castiel would even ask the question. "Cas, this is about consensual kink, it's supposed to ultimately be _enjoyable_ for everyone involved." Disbelieving, Castiel shook his head. _It's supposed to be enjoyable for my dom. I'm supposed to be enjoyable for my dom. That's it. What I want is_ — "She really did a number on you, didn't she."

"Yes," Castiel conceded in wonder. "Yes, I suppose she did."

Dean flopped down on to the bed, causing the springs to squeak and the pillows to bounce. Spreading his legs wide, he held out his arms in invitation. "You want to tell me about it?"

 _No, not at all._

 _But maybe I need to._

Hesitantly, Castiel climbed on to the bed and settled between Dean's legs. Dean instantly embraced him, wrapping arms around his chest, tucking their legs together, and drew Castiel with him as Dean leaned back against the headboard. For a delightful moment, Castiel reveled in the feeling of being held safe, taking long, slow breaths. One of Dean's hands idly traced a soothing line down Castiel's abs.

"When she was unhappy with me, she'd chain me to the radiator in a small room in her basement," Castiel whispered. His throat felt thick, his skin electric, but Dean was a solid weight behind him, around him, hot air blew on Castiel's neck with every exhale, and Castiel felt _protected_. The past couldn't hurt him, not here, not now, not as long as Dean refused to give up on him. "She'd keep me there for days – weeks, if she could get away with it – with no food and minimal water." Muscles flexed against Castiel's shoulders as Dean strained and resisted the clear desire to draw Castiel in closer, tighter. Instead, Dean kept his hug loose enough that Castiel could free himself if he wished. He had no desire to move, though. Dean's embrace wasn't dangerous.

"She'd let other doms…" A whimper forced itself from Castiel as tears leaked from his eyes. Twisting in Dean's arms, Castiel wrapped an arm around his shoulders, lay his other hand on Dean's side, curled himself up in the circle of Dean's bowed legs, and tucked his forehead and the bridge of his nose against Dean's neck. Every inhale filled his nose with Dean's musky, leathery scent. "She'd let other doms, male doms, have sex with me."

The first confession.

Dean said nothing, but he continued his tender ministrations. An unknown amount of time passed before Castiel found the strength to continue.

"One time, she…"

Little by little, Castiel forced the words out while Dean listened. Occasionally, Dean would murmur wordless reassurance, but mostly Dean held him and took care of him as Castiel expelled the words like carving gangrenous flesh from around a gaping wound.

A knock on the door woke Castiel to a darkened room. He didn't recall dozing off. Dean was still wrapped around him, though their positions had shifted. Gentle patting on Castiel's back encouraged him to move, and he did so, allowing Dean to answer the door. A delicious smell permeated the room. Dean exchanged quiet words with someone and wheeled in a cart of room service.

"Thought you might be hungry," said Dean, sounding strangely shy.

"You're absolutely perfect," murmured Castiel with a happy sigh that melted him against the bed. Speaking hadn't gotten easier, but Castiel had kept talking, dredged up every flashback he'd had over the past weeks, recalled every horror that he'd been too afraid to even think of over the years. For once, remembering didn't equate to reliving. Though Castiel quaked and cried, he didn't panic and he didn't flashback. Thinking on it now as, blearily, he watched Dean take the silver cloche from a plate of steak and potatoes, Castiel knew precisely what was different.

"You're not Naomi," he murmured. Dean looked up at him, startled, and then smiled warmly and gestured invitation at dinner. "You're not Zachariah or Uriel or any of the others. You're not Naomi. And you're not Alastair. I'm so glad you're you, Dean."

"I'm glad you're you too, Cas," said Dean. "Now sit up, we gotta get some food in you."

"No," said Castiel, shaking his head. Dean frowned. "You don't understand. I'm glad you're…I'm glad…my boyfriend?" Understanding blossomed like golden dawn on Dean's face. "I'm glad you're my boyfriend, Dean."

"Me too, Cas," Dean smiled at him shyly and nudged the plate towards Castiel. "Me too."

* * *

Castiel woke up.

He turned off his alarm.

He snuggled with Dean.

They took a chaste shower together: not too cold, not too hot.

"Goldilocks shower," Dean joked, and Castiel stared at the Adonis of tanned skin and pale brown hair standing with him and thought Goldilocks was an apt description.

They exchanged small talk over a light continental breakfast.

They hugged goodbye and agreed to meet up that night at a restaurant downtown.

Castiel promised he'd leave work no later than 9 PM.

The morning was pleasantly sunny as Castiel walked the few blocks to the Sandover Building.

The clock on the church tower tolled 8 bells.

Castiel waved cheerful good morning to a mildly surprised security guard.

The elevator chimed each floor as Castiel ascended to the 20th.

Castiel would have an hour or two to catch up on everything he'd missed the day before.

He made his way to his office.

He opened the door.

He closed it behind him.

His gaze took in the room in an instant.

His desk. The chair for a guest. His computer. The chair behind his desk.

Naomi Tapping sitting in his chair.

"Hello, Castiel."

"No."

Her lips curved into a familiar, frigid smile.

Suddenly, Castiel was 20 years old again, alone and frightened and trying _so damn hard_ to be perfect.

"I missed you."

 _No, no, no. I can't do this. I can't be what she needs. I can't be hers again. I DO NOT WANT to be hers again._

His hand found the doorknob.

It was locked.

"Dean," he whispered, a prayer, a desperate cry for help.

He didn't know why he bothered to pray any longer.

He learned when he was 20 that there was no God.

There was only Naomi.

"After all the work I put into training you, you dare invoke anyone's name but mine? You disappoint me, Castiel. I'll remind you who owns you."

"No," Castiel mouthed, no sound coming out.

 _Dean cares about me. I matter to Dean. Dean respects my limits. Dean listened to everything and he still held me like I was precious. Dean doesn't think I'm broken._

"You will speak loudly and clearly when addressing your mistress."

 _Dean wants to be my boyfriend._

"No."

 _And I want to be Dean's sub._

Rising smoothly, Naomi casually backhanded him across the cheek. Castiel's ears rang but he didn't flinch and he didn't move. He had always been larger than her, yet she'd cowed him so easily. No longer. Never again.

 _Naomi doesn't own me any longer. She doesn't have a right to my body, my mind, my past, or my future._

"I said no," said Castiel more confidently.

"I got such an interesting phone call yesterday," she continued as if Castiel hadn't defied her. "My old friend Zach, moved south to Texas, telling me that he's found my wayward pet, that he's _used_ my wayward pet, that my pet is still obedient and docile and exceptionally giving, but also still rebellious. He said you were his now. But we both know the truth, don't we? You're mine. You always were, and you always will be."

"I asked Adler to help me with one scene," Castiel said with what power he could muster. It was hard, so hard. His heart raced, his palms were sweaty, but he held the thought of Dean firmly in his mind.

"Castiel—"

" _No_ ," he interrupted her. _Oh God, I interrupted her, I'm talking over her, she's going to—_ "Adler is not my dom. You are not my dom. You will leave my office. _Now_ , Naomi."

"And if I don't?" Naomi said, unimpressed.

Castiel had no answer to that.

 _She's got me again. I'm trapped again. She can—_

 _She can_ what _, exactly? She can't force me. I was never hers because she could over power me. I was hers because I agreed to be hers. The rest followed from that initial consent._

 _I_ do not _consent._

"What do you hope to accomplish by imprisoning me here?" he said, changing tactics.

 _What was she ever hoping to accomplish? Chain me and punish me and train me…I can't do this again, I can't, she has to leave, she has to, she has to let me go!_

"Reclaiming what is mine," she said. "I've spent nearly two decades searching for your replacement, Castiel, but as difficult as you could be, there is no one else like you."

 _Wait. That…almost sounded like a compliment._

"I missed you so much," she continued more warmly. "You've aged beautifully, too. You were always such a good boy when you wanted to be. Over the years I've wished I could find you. I've wondered many times – how did you look? How did your scars fade? You…"

The first compliments washed over him comfortingly, sickening Castiel with the response he couldn't prevent. However, at the mention of his scars, his positive reaction shut down. It was gratifying, after a fashion, to know she still thought of him so, but it was irrelevant. With every blink Castiel saw Dean behind his eyelids; not Dean as his dom, not Dean powerful and in control, but Dean as he had appeared that morning: disheveled, hair askew, clothing wrinkled, eyes sleepy, smile dopey, body warm. Dean wasn't only offering Castiel compliments. He wasn't only offering Castiel training or control or a "quick fix." Dean was offering _himself._ He wanted Castiel, flaws and all. Dean acknowledged that he'd made mistakes and had apologized. Dean had shown vulnerability. Dean was responsive to Castiel's needs, respectful of Castiel's desires, appropriately wary of Castiel's limits.

There was nothing Naomi could say or do that could compare to what Dean offered unconditionally. She continued to speak, watching him intently, but Castiel tuned her out. The door was yet locked, the office claustrophobic, the air thick. Castiel's pulse quickened, his breathing sped up, but he held on to the image of Dean, settled into the office chair opposite Naomi, and did his best to keep calm.

Naomi couldn't hurt him without his consent.

She had to let him out eventually.

 _I've thought that before and been proved wrong…_

* * *

Endnote: I now know for certain that this story will be 8 chapters long.

Also, unexpected bonus: next chapter will be from Dean's PoV! I'd been wanting to work it in somehow and realized that upcoming events will be much easier to portray and more interesting to read as seen from his perspective. :)


	7. Chapter 7

As promised, Dean's PoV!

* * *

 _I should have seen this coming_.

With a sigh, Dean leaned back in the uncomfortable but fashionable chair in the Omni lobby and mouthed a count of ten, accompanying nearby church bells as they chimed the hour. He had ample evidence that Cas would say whatever he had to in order to protect himself, ample evidence that Cas would lie and then bolt, yet Dean was still surprised that the man he'd briefly dared to hope would be his boyfriend had no-shown on him.

 _Still an optimist even after all the shit I've been through. Stupid, Winchester, real stupid._

His phone pinged. For a wild moment Dean hoped it was Cas, but he repressed the hope with another sigh. Cas' phone was broken. Both of Cas' phones were busted.

 _He was so ashamed of me that he got a second phone and didn't even put my number in his primary one._

 _No. No. He's not ashamed of me. He's ashamed of himself._

 _Be reasonable, Winchester. He's ashamed of both of us._

 _Charlie (10:01 PM):_ Still nothing?

 _Dean (10:01 PM):_ Still nothing.

A flicker of worry overcame Dean's frustration as he pocketed the phone and slouched back in the chair. He wanted to trust Cas so badly. When he extended that trust, all he could think of were the injuries that Cas had sustained on Sunday, all he could see was Cas as he'd appeared when Dean and Gilda had busted into his room that night: bruises on his neck and back and sides, blood dried and flaking around his ass and thighs, a raspy catch in his voice that spoke to unseen damage to his throat and lungs. _Someone_ had done that to Cas. Whoever that someone was might hurt Cas again…Cas might not want to be late…Cas might be in danger… _if_ Cas had told Dean the truth, if Cas had _truly_ intended to meet Dean but something was preventing him…

…but it was so difficult to trust Cas.

 _He never told me anything_.

 _But yesterday we talked it through, we communicated, things should be better now._

 _He tried to close me out._

 _Because I hurt him._

 _I only hurt him because he didn't give me enough information for me to make wise choices!_

 _He denied me permission to meet him and I stormed in anyway._

 _Dammit this whole thing is a goddamn clusterfuck._

 _But why would he lie to me again?_

 _He wouldn't._

 _I don't want to believe he would._

Growling in his throat in frustration – earning him an alarmed look from a hotel staff member – Dean pulled his phone out again.

 _Dean (10:04 PM):_ Do you know where Cas works?

 _Charlie (10:05 PM):_ Not officially.

 _Dean (10:05 PM):_ What the fuck does that mean?

 _Charlie (10:06 PM):_ He didn't tell me and obviously didn't tell you and maybe we should stop invading his privacy.

 _Dean (10:07 PM):_ Gilda give Charlie back her phone.

 _Charlie (10:08 PM):_ No. It's like it never occurred to either of you that if Cas hasn't told us stuff it's because he doesn't want us to know and maybe Cas knows better what's best for Cas than you or Charlie do.

 _Dean (10:09 PM):_ I'm worried about him. Whatever happened to him the other day was bad and he's not recovered and we were just starting to work shit out and I don't think he lied to me so where is he? He said 9:15 at the latest.

Dean typed as fast as he could and waited impatiently for a reply. Gilda's permission was not required for Dean to act, but finding Cas without Gilda and Charlie's help would be challenging. He had no idea where Cas worked. He had only the vaguest idea of what Cas did for a living. In six months Cas had shared so little.

 _He doesn't trust me. He doesn't want me to find him. I am violating his trust_ again _. I should stop._

 _But what if he's in a situation he doesn't want to be in with whoever he scened with on Sunday?_

 _What if he's dropping?_

 _What if he needs me and I'm not there?_

 _I can't do that again. I can't watch from a distance. I can't step back knowing he's suffering._

 _But what if I'm wrong? What if he's just trying to get away from me?_

 _What if he's wrong and I really_ am _Naomi Tapping?_

They hadn't been together a single damn scene before Cas knew enough about Dean to track him down with a single reverse image search on Google, but Cas had played things closer to the vest. Over and over, Dean had told himself he didn't mind Cas' persistent, stubborn anonymity. In retrospect, Dean had to acknowledge he was as good a liar as Cas was, even if Dean was only lying to himself.

With no answer forthcoming – _it's been like 45 seconds you idiot_ – Dean switched to Chrome and entered _Castiel Novak_ in the search bar. A new text came before he could look at the results.

 _Charlie (10:10 PM):_ We don't know where he works but we'll see what we can find out.

Nodding, Dean switched back to his search.

 _Business Watch: Sandover to merge with Industrial Alliances_ was the first result. Clicking on the link, Dean scanned the article, describing how Castiel Novak and a man named Zachariah Adler – _Adler was the name of the man Castiel called yesterday –_ were negotiating with someone named Bela Talbot over a corporate acquisition deal, and this was causing stocks prices to fluctuate erratically.

 _Dean (10:12 PM):_ Ever heard of Sandover?

He sent the text message even as a he Googled the company name.

 _Charlie (10:13 PM):_ Yes. They built a skyscraper in downtown.

 _Charlie (10:13 PM):_ This is Charlie btw I got my phone back.

The Google results popped up, a map showing Dean's current location and that of the Sandover building, mere blocks away.

 _I could run there in about two minutes._

If Dean had any way to contact Cas, he wouldn't even consider invading Cas' workplace.

 _He's probably still working and lost track of the time. He's probably fucking fled to get away from me again. I can't fix things by bothering him. I can only make this worse. I can only violate his belief in me and make things even worse – maybe break them beyond repair this time._

 _Charlie (10:15 PM):_ One of our regulars works there. Weird guy. Once used his corporate card to buy kinky shit.

A chill went down Dean's spine. It seemed impossible, but…

 _Dean (10:16 PM):_ His name Adler?

 _Charlie (10:16 PM):_ Yes.

Dean's stomach turned. _What if…_

 _Charlie (10:17 PM):_ He's how we knew Cas' last name was Novak. They ran into each other here. You think Cas works at Sandover?

 _Charlie (10:17 PM):_ Wait.

 _Charlie (10:17 PM):_ waitwaitwaitwaitwait

 _Charlie (10:17 PM):_ You don't think

 _Dean (10:17 PM):_ gtg ttyl

Dean was on his feet and bolting out the lobby doors before he could pause to think on what he was doing. His phone chimed again but he didn't bother looking at it, stuffing it in his pocket to free his hands. He didn't know Dallas well; he'd not spent much time there before the past week, and he'd spent most of that curled up on Charlie and Gilda's living room couch, a semi-conscious ball of self-loathing. However, the Sandover building was enormous and hard to miss and he'd seen a photograph of it on his phone. He didn't need a map, he just needed to look to the skyline and the gleaming, glass building blocks away picked out with blue lights in the dark, cold night.

With the decision made to act, Dean quashed his reflective thoughts. A plaintive voice kept trying to suggest that Dean was pushing too hard again, violating Cas' personal space again, breaching Cas' trust again, but he ignored it. Even after the way Cas had cut him off, especially in light of the previous day, Dean still trusted Cas – he had to, he _had_ to trust his sub, he had to believe that despite their recent problems Cas had sought out and enjoyed the scenes they'd done together. The alternative was unbearable: that Cas only participated because Dean asked, that Cas had continued to scene with him because he'd felt trapped by Dean as he'd once been trapped by Naomi, that Cas saw Dean as his abuser.

 _I'm not that person any more, I'm not! I will not be!_

Cas had said he'd be back at the hotel by 9:15.

Cas had said they could be boyfriends.

Cas had told him story after horrible story about his life as a sub with Naomi Tapping.

Cas found a dom to punish him on Sunday.

Cas wasn't from Dallas.

Odds were everyone Cas knew in Dallas worked for Sandover.

Adler worked at Sandover and was a patron of _Hack and Slash_ and was a weird guy who bought kinky shit.

Adler had seen Cas at _Hack and Slash_. Cas had seen Adler at _Hack and Slash_.

 _When Cas wants to be punished, what does he do? He goes to his dom and he asks for punishment. Because he's a good sub like that and he doesn't shirk his responsibilities or hide from his culpability._

 _I made it impossible for Cas to come to me and ask for what he needed._

 _Is it a stretch to think that he would go to Adler? Why would he think Adler a dom? None of this makes any sense. And yet…_

Dean's lungs burned as he pushed himself to run faster.

 _And yet…_

Dean's legs ached with the strain of pounding over pavement, jeans and boots constraining him.

 _And yet…_

Dean's thoughts raced with worry.

 _And yet I can't escape the feeling that something is very wrong. If I'm a fool for trusting Cas after everything that's happened, then I'm a fool. Wouldn't be the first fucking time. But it's my responsibility to take care of Cas and I've failed and I've failed and I've failed and I've failed and I will not fail again._

The exquisite, modern glass building was fronted by a large open courtyard dotted with benches and planters and generic decorative sculptures. An illuminated sign over the door named the facility the 'P.T. Sandover Domestic Corporate Headquarters.' Dean's panting breaths and slapping boot soles and pounding heartbeat filled the otherwise quiet public space.

As he came to the doors he realized how utterly screwed he was.

Through the glass, he could see a marble-countered security desk with two alert guards sitting behind it. Other than that, the building was dark, only the occasional window lit to cast squares of golden light onto the pavement below. Even the lobby lights were dimmed. Putting a hand to the door only proved what should have been obvious: it was locked. The doors rattling on their hinges drew the attention of the security staff, who both looked up and scowled discouragingly at him, one rising and fingering the gun worn openly at her side. Before the threatening gesture could become threatening action, Dean gave an embarrassed wave – _nothing to see here, just a drunk dude too stupid to realize it's a bad idea to mess with corporate buildings staffed by private security, move along_ – and walked purposefully back across the courtyard, retrieving his phone from his pocket.

 _Charlie (10:18 PM):_ Dean what are you doing

 _Charlie (10:18 PM):_ Don't do something stupid

 _Charlie (10:19 PM):_ Even if Adler hurt Cas you have to respect Cas' boundaries

 _Charlie (10:21 PM):_ It's too late isn't it you're already doing something dumb

 _Charlie (10:22 PM):_ Fuck it if I can't stop you I guess I have to make sure you don't get arrested

 _Charlie (10:26 PM):_ You're on the guest list for the Sandover building.

 _Charlie (10:27 PM):_ Go get 'um, tiger.

Wheeling on a heel, Dean turned and stalked deliberately back to the glass doors. This time, he didn't hesitate, didn't try to look innocent. Instead, he knocked, knuckles making a dull sound against the thick glass. The guards were startled; one pointed at his computer screen. The other glanced at it, rolled her eyes, nodded, and came to the door.

"Mr. Dean Winchester?" she asked brusquely, pushing it open.

"Yup," he said. Before she could stop him, he stepped through into the airlock.

"Welcome to the Sandover building, sir," she said, speaking polite words with the flat disinterest of someone speaking by rote. "Sorry we didn't recognize you when you approached before." Dean snagged the interior door and held it open for her.

"We'll need to see ID," called the man at the desk more cordially. "Sorry, it's procedure."

"Sure, no problem," said Dean. Pulling out his wallet, he hoped like hell that whatever false information Charlie had hacked into their computers wouldn't be demonstrated a lie by Dean's driver's license. He handed them the card and barely restraining himself from bouncing impatiently on his heels. The guards only gave the document a cursory glance, though, before passing it back and nodding him in.

"Mr. Adler and Mr. Novak are working on the 20th floor," said the woman boredly, stepping behind the counter and resuming her seat. From this close, Dean could see that they were watching a sitcom on one of a bank of security monitors.

The elevator ride seemed endless, each ping as it carried him upstairs triggering further worries about what Dean would find when he arrived.

Ping.

 _Cas furious at Dean for tracking him down at his place of employment, telling Dean to leave and never come back._

Ping.

 _Cas happy with his new dom, anyone other than Dean, his dom that gives him what he needs, his dom that doesn't hurt him constantly and violate his trust._

Ping.

 _Cas making delicious noises for someone who is actually allowed to see him, actually allowed to touch him, actually allowed to know him, actually allowed to have him._

Ping.

 _Cas alone and bleeding and hurt and broken yet still unwilling to let Dean help him._

Ping.

 _Cas' voice, condemning, dark, low, telling Dean that he wished they'd never met, that he never wanted to see Dean again._

Ping.

 _Cas, screaming beneath Dean's knife._

Ping.

 _Cas, screaming beneath Alastair's knife._

Shuddering, Dean pulled his phone out to distract himself.

Ping.

 _Dean (10:32 PM):_ Thanks for your help Charlie. And thank Gilda for her advice. I'll try not to fuck up too badly. I hope Cas is okay.

Ping.

The stainless steel elevator doors opened onto a plushly appointed open space, walls hung with generic artwork, several potted plants stashed in corners, and a large unmanned reception desk in the middle. Hallways led off to the left and right and there were two doors. One, glass set in a glass wall, looked into a lavish office with rich red carpeting, a bulky carved desk in dark wood, and an older man sitting hunched, chewing his lip as he frowned at a computer monitor. There was no one else in sight. At the sound of the elevator doors closing, the man glanced up, saw Dean, directed that frown at him and started to rise.

 _That must be Adler._

Dean was across the lobby and through the office door before Adler finished getting to his feet.

"Where's Cas?" Dean demanded.

Adler sneered at him. "Excuse me, you—"

" _Where's Castiel_?" he snarled.

 _Think before you act, think before you get angry, this might not be what you think. Don't make it worse!_

"Who are you? Who let you in the building?" asked Adler. Standing up straight, the man was taller than Dean expected – tall enough to look down at Dean – and projected an air of strength despite his thin hair and paunch. There was something familiar about him. Nearly everyone Dean knew was in the life, and combined with what he knew about Adler Dean took recognition as confirmation of his suspicions.

 _Fuck it. This walking bag of dicks hurt Cas. I_ know _he did._

Dean's arm shot out, his hand closed powerfully over Adler's neck, and he slammed Adler's head against the desk. A squawk of protest broke off in a groan of pain as Adler was temporarily incapacitated; an arm raised too slowly in futile self-defense fell limply to Adler's side.

"You will tell me where Castiel is," said Dean softly, "or I will make you tell me. I don't give a flying fuck what kind of kinky shit is, I guarantee you won't like it if I have to force you. You will have nightmares about me for the rest of your worthless fucking life."

"I'll call security, I'll—" Dean interrupted by slamming Adler's head against the desk again. There was a crunch as Adler's nose broke and he screamed pitifully.

"What'd you do to him?" Dean roared. Adler groped for him, but pain and surprise and shock weakened him and his struggles were ineffectual.

"Nothing he didn't want," chuckled Adler brokenly, splattering the dark wood with droplets of bright red blood. "He _begged me_ for it."

"Son of a—" With a wordless, furious sound Dean lifted Adler's head again, brought him down hard on the edge of the desk, and Adler crumpled.

"Fuck," Dean muttered.

Now what?

Dropping Adler, indifferent to the awkward way his body sprawled on the carpet, Dean looked around. There was no obvious sign of where Castiel might be. "Cas?" he called pointlessly. The open expanse of Adler's posh office could hide nothing. Hands shaking with adrenaline, Dean darted out of the room.

 _Carried away, already carried away, already too angry, far too angry. With Adler out of commission, how can I find Cas? He could be anywhere…_

"Cas?"

He tried the second door leading from the foyer, jiggling the handle, but it was locked. Calling Cas' name, Dean hastened down the hallway and tried every door. He found a janitorial closet, a bathroom, an office, a server room, but no sign of Cas.

A faint noise drew his attention back towards the main room.

"You there, Cas?"

"Dean?" The voice was so soft that Dean wasn't sure he'd heard it at all or if what had been said was his name.

"Keep talking!" he shouted. "Louder!"

"Dean!" Fuck, yeah, that was definitely his name, and that low, gruff voice was definitely Cas. Thank fucking God. "I'm in here." There was a dull thud against the locked door.

Weighing his options for breaking the lock, dismissing the question of why Cas didn't speak up when Dean tried the door the first time, Dean glanced at the array of items around the lobby. No dice, though: he didn't see keys and he didn't see anything he could use to get through the door.

"You gonna be okay in there if I go for a minute? I gotta get something to bust the lock."

"I'm fine," Cas replied. There was no telling the veracity of Cas' words; the wood deadened his voice, robbed it of inflection. Hurrying back to the janitor's closet, Dean ransacked the contents until he found a pry bar in a tool box. An instant later found him placing the bar against the door, catching the handle; he didn't remember crossing the intervening space, only his relief at the discovery, the adrenaline surge choking him, the single thought driving him to help Cas. There was blood on his hand, he noted idly.

"Step away from the door," Dean called. He waited a moment, gripped the bar hard and jerked it down. The first attempt did nothing, nor did the second. There was a crunch the third time he tried, but the door didn't budge. Dean's grip on the pry bar slipped, slamming his knuckles painfully against the thick door "Fucking hell…Cas, I'll be right back."

"Hurry." Though Cas sounded calm, the request was tantamount to a scream for help from someone else.

"I'm gonna get you out of there," Dean said as much to reassure himself as Cas. He hurried across the lobby, snagging the wheeling office chair from the desk as he did, and hefted the largest of the potted plants – a palm tree in a sizeable pot with large, glossy dark green leaves that flapped at Dean's arms and face as he moved it. "Don't you worry, Cas, everything is going to be fine. I'm really fucking sorry to intrude at your job like this but when you didn't show I guess I freaked."

"It's alright," Castiel said faintly. "You're rescuing me, Dean. You rescued me."

"Ain't done shit yet," Dean grunted. Positioning the chair, he precariously hoisted himself on to it, struggling to keep his balance as it threatened to roll beneath him. _Except assault Adler. Probably gonna end up with ass arrested for this shit. But fuck it, it's worth it if Cas is safe._

 _I won't spend long in jail anyway._

He didn't dwell on that part. He didn't want to think about what was going to have to come after this.

With a deep, loud inhale, Dean lifted the plant up and dropped it onto the pry bar.

The lock broke with a snap and the door wobbled open a skosh. Dean hopped down from the chair and nearly face planted as it went out from under his feet, kicked the plant out of the way. Castiel pulled the door opened frantically and stumbled out of the room, past Dean, falling to his knees and taking panicky breaths. The noxious smell of human waste floated out after him. Dean dropped down beside him; when Cas had left that morning, his hair had been neatly combed, his suit perfectly pressed. Now, his jacket was missing, his tie askew, his hair a tangled mess, his shirt untucked and sodden, the crotch of his pants suspiciously darkened, and his face was frighteningly pale.

 _What do I do, what do I do, what do I do…_

 _Is it okay to touch him? Should I talk to him? Should I…?_

"Dean, I—" A choking inhale interrupted Cas' attempt to talk. "Oh God, I…"

"You're okay – you're okay, Cas," said Dean reassuringly, holding out his hands but stopping short of physical contact. "You're free, now."

"I'm…I'm not, I just…" Shaking his head, Cas swooned and Dean caught him. Wetness soaked instantly through Dean's t-shirt where the loose flaps of Cas' shirt brushed him. "No!" Weakly, Cas shoved at Dean, too weak to be successful, but Dean dropped him and skittered back as if burned.

"I'm sorry!" Dean grimaced. "Whatever you need, Cas, you tell me. I want to help."

"I know…I know, but you can't, no one can, I'm disgusting. I—" Cas managed a long, ragged breath, set his hands on his knees. "I'm so _broken_ , Dean, and now I…I…just look, please? I can't – I _can't_ …"

"S'ok," Dean said, doing his best to sound in control even as wariness wound tightly through him. "Everything is gonna be okay."

Pushing himself to his feet, Dean nervously peeked into the room. Within was an office, smaller than the janitor's closet, and slumped at the chair desk was Naomi, identical in appearance to the last time Dean saw her save for the deep red blood drying in rivulets on the side of her head. A computer monitor lay on the floor, screen cracked in a spider web around the spot where Cas must have hit Naomi with it. Numb, Dean reached out and lay a hand on her throat but he didn't need to feel her pulse to confirm that she was merely unconscious; her throat pressed at his fingers as she inhaled, fell away as breath whispered from her.

 _911\. She needs an ambulance. Adler probably does, too. And maybe Cas._

Dean's hand ghosted to the receiver on the phone on the desk. Lifting it, he dialed and held the phone to his ear but there was no dial tone. _Adler and Tapping had this all worked out, didn't they. How long did they keep Cas in there? He got to work like fifteen fucking hours ago._ Scowling in anger, Dean set it down again and walked out of the office.

"I killed her," Cas whispered despondently.

"No," Dean said, quelling emotion for Castiel's sake. "She's alive. I'm going to call an ambulance, okay?" He pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit the emergency call button. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"She was never going to let me go," said Ca, voice flat, eyes unfocussed. "I'm hers. But I don't want to be. I want to be yours, Dean, and now…"

"911 dispatch. What is your emergency?"

"Yeah, we're at the Sandover building and we've got two unconscious people," said Dean, grimacing.

 _As soon as I get off this call…_

"What am I going to do, Dean?"

"What is the nature of their injuries?"

"One was hit in the head with a computer monitor." Dean looked a question at Cas and got a shaky head nod by way of confirmation. "The other had his face smashed in on a desk." Startled, Cas met Dean's eyes. He shrugged sheepishly.

… _whatever I have to do to keep him safe…_

"Did you witness the incident in question?"

"I perpetrated the incident in question," Dean confessed casually. There was a beat pause. Cas' expression slid from shock into horror as he realized what Dean was doing. "They kidnapped and imprisoned my boyfriend." Cas shook his head in disbelief.

"Did you call the police before you…assaulted…his captors?"

"Nope." Confidence growing, Dean managed a cocky grin. He was going to be screwed regardless. No need to get Cas more involved than absolutely necessary. "Took matters completely into my own hands."

… _I was going to have to make the call anyway…_

There was another pause. Cas was mouthing something, but Dean wasn't sure what, a tear leaking out of his gorgeous blue eyes.

"You're aware that if you remain on the premises, you're going to be arrested?"

"Yeah – yeah, I'm _aware_ ," Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, they're are people bleeding over here. You gonna send an ambulance or…?"

"Thank you for filing your report, sir," said the dispatcher in disbelief.

"Any time," Dean joked. Despite his jocular tone, his heart pounded, his head ached. Today already sucked and it was going to suck so much more before things were done. Without waiting for an answer, he hung up and started scrolling through his contact list before he could convince himself not to.

The entry wasn't under 'R.' Seeing the name every time he scrolled through looking for _Reznick_ , _Roberts_ , and _Ross_ was too stressful. However, he'd not been able to bring himself to delete the entry entirely. He _knew_ he should, knew that for his mental health he should have completely cut off contact, but he couldn't let go. Alastair Rolston had been his teacher, his mentor, and – in a sick way – his savior. Whatever else Dean could say, he had to acknowledge that he was not the same man as he'd been before they'd met.

Not _all_ the changes were for the worse.

Taking a deep breath, Dean flicked to the bottom of the contact list where Alastair's contact information was saved under the entry "#####." He hit 'call.'

 _Don't pick up don't pick up don't pick up…_

The phone rang.

 _No, I need him to answer, this is the only way I can help Cas._

"Hello, Dean." Alastair's lisping, sibilant voice made Dean's skin crawl. "This _is_ an unexpected pleasure. The prodigal son returns?"

"Never," snapped Dean angrily. With a wavering breath, he steadied himself. Emotion was weakness. Alastair could read him play him like a fucking fiddle no matter what Dean did, no need to make it even easier for him. "I need a favor."

"Oh, Dean, I thought you knew – only the _best things_ in life are free," drawled Alastair. "For the rest I need money…though it depends what you're offering, I suppose."

"I think what I've got in mind will appeal to you," Dean said through gritted teeth. "Not only will I owe you one, but you get to go after some old friends of yours for kidnapping, wrongful imprisonment, assault, rape, and any other charges that suit your fancy."

"I'm listening…"

"Naomi Tapping and Zachariah Adler," said Dean.

"They are some _very_ good friends," said Alastair thoughtfully. "Why would I want to help you _punish_ them?"

"Cause I know you, Alastair," Dean replied. Cas blanched, and Dean grimaced. He'd been hoping to keep Cas from finding out that part, but he couldn't keep his fucking mouth shut. _There would have been no keeping it a secret anyway, but I could have told him when he was less fucked in the head. Too late now._ "There's nothing you love better than reminding someone that the only difference between the one doing the cutting and the one being cut is a slight shift in perspective." _A lesson I hope you'll learn the hard way some day._

"Aw, Dean, you listened," Alastair cooed. Fucking disgusting. "I knew there was a reason you were my favorite."

As if Dean could have forgotten that lesson: Alastair had carved it into Dean's skin, shallow cuts with a blade so razor-sharp that Dean didn't feel pain until Alastair poured salt on the wounds or spilled alcohol over them, scars so thin they'd faded to invisibility over the years. There was no way to learn to cut without being cut, Alastair had said. Except for Alastair himself, of course, who had a fucking embroidered pillow on his couch identifying him as "Picasso with a Razor" that a past sub had made.

Sick bastard.

"I'll do this favor," Alastair continued. "It's a perfect opportunity to spend some quality time together. I've missed you, Dean." Dean wished he'd never used that fucking word, ' _favor_.' No matter what he did now, he'd end up owing Alastair something. "Where should I catch a flight to?"

"Dallas," said Dean. "I'm in Dallas." He hung up before Alastair could say anything else. Hands shaking, he lowered the phone and gave Cas a smile that felt more like a snarl.

"Dean…what did you do?" asked Cas.

"Called my lawyer," Dean replied with an attempt at casualness that fell completely flat.

"You called _Alastair_ ," Cas said. "Surely you must know other lawyers…"

"Yeah, well, he's uniquely qualified in this case," Dean explained, wishing it wasn't the truth. "He also _loves_ taking other doms down a peg or two and he'll fight hard to get me off because then I'll owe him. Don't worry, Cas. I won't let him anywhere near you, I swear it."

"I'm not worried about me," Cas frowned. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't be," said Dean with a fake grin. "I'm not worried about me." _I never worry about me. I've got so much to make up for. A little more time beneath Alastair's knife will barely scratch the surface._ He managed to make his smile more genuine, amusement at his own macabre joke. "This place have an executive shower or something?" Cas blushed and surreptitiously tried to hide the wet stains on his clothing. "Go, Cas. No need for the cops and EMTs to know you had anything to do with what happened to that bitch or her lap dog. You're a victim. And I'll be fine. Alastair may be a son of a bitch but he's the best lawyer I've ever met. I'm not gonna go to jail. Naomi and Adler are."

Brow knit, Cas watched him. Dean wished he could read Cas' mind because there was no sign on his face what he was thinking. Once, Dean had thought that meant still waters ran deep or some shit but now he understood depressingly well how quickly and dangerously Castiel's thoughts raced while his face remained impassive. There was a long delay before Cas said, "I don't appreciate you making decisions for me, Dean. I will accept this resolution, but I wish you'd spoken with me before you called Alastair."

"You're right," Dean conceded, hiding his relief that Cas hadn't fallen apart again. _On the other hand, if he needed me to support him through crisis I wouldn't have to think about Alastair showing up, wouldn't have to think about what I owe him, wouldn't have to think about anything other than Cas needing me._ "I'm sorry. I'll try to do better in the future."

"I guess that's all either of us can do," said Cas with resignation. With surprising strength and dignity, Cas rose and walked down one of the hallways. Dean watched Castiel's back, shirt tails fluttering, and Dean's shoulders slumped.

The first cut was always the deepest. Calling Alastair was the right decision. It would all work out in the end. Cas would be safe. That's what mattered most. Dean had sworn to never again be the reason an innocent person was hurt, and he'd stand by that no matter the cost to himself.

His phone pinged.

 _Charlie (10:53 PM):_ Jesus fucking Christ Dean are you going to tell us what's going on is Cas okay

 _Dean (10:55 PM):_ Sorry Charlie.

 _Dean (10:56 PM):_ Fill you in when I'm out of jail.

"What's going on, Dean?" Cas had stopped and looked over his shoulder towards Dean. Instantly, Dean adjusted his posture so that his worries wouldn't show.

 _Charlie (10:57 PM):_ Please tell me you're kidding.

"Charlie and Gilda wanted to know if you were okay."

 _Charlie (10:58 PM):_ Dammit Dean.

"Tell them I'll be fine."

 _Dean (10:59 PM):_ Sort of kidding. Cops aren't here yet but they'll probably arrest me when they get here. I beat the shit out of Zachariah Adler.

 _Charlie (11:00 PM):_ Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

Smiling, Dean closed the distance between them and showed the exchange to Cas. Castiel's laughter was the nicest thing Dean had heard in days. Whatever the consequences, he'd made the right decision when he called Alastair.

* * *

"You have found yourself such a pretty little boy," Alastair smirked. Dean's grip on the edge of the table tightened, his knuckles went white. It was past 5 AM, Dean had been in an interrogation room for hours without even a fucking bathroom break while he waited for Alastair to arrive, and _that_ was what the asshole led with?

 _If he lays one hand on Cas…_

… _no. I can't let him see how much this affects me. If he does, it'll become a game to him. This entire scenario is_ already _a game to him, but I can at least try to keep myself the object of that game._

Dean shrugged with a show of indifference. "He's alright I guess," he said. "Nothing to write home about but a fuck's a fuck, as you taught me."

"Oh, are we writing home about boyfriends now?" A gleam in Alastair's eye, a twist of his lips, a broadening of his smile to show teeth, all gave Alastair a predatory appearance. _At least when he smiles like that he looks a fraction as dangerous as he actually is._ "Have the charming parents and the oh-so-perfect younger brother finally re-welcomed their deviant, twisted eldest back into the fold?"

… _Meg, tied to his bed, bleeding and sobbing and writhing on the vibrator buried in her pussy begging Dean to get his cock in her ass…_

… _he wasn't supposed to be home, none of them were supposed to get home until after 10 PM, Sammy had his fucking talent show and Dean had lied, said he couldn't go cause he had to work. He'd been looking forward to this evening of privacy for days. Alastair had finally given Dean permission to make his own cuts and Meg was so fucking willing to bleed and Sam_ wasn't supposed to come home _._

"… _have no explanation." Dean was numb standing before his parents. "I wanted to. She wanted to." Mary sobbed. John was disappointed and shocked. Sam couldn't stop staring at him, hands shaking._

They'll never look at me the same way again, not now that they know.

" _Maybe I should go."_

" _Yes," said John steadily. "You should."_

 _The last thing Dean heard from any member of his family as he walked out the door and left everything behind was his mother wailing as if her heart had shattered._

 _There was nowhere to go except Alastair's house._

"No," Dean said, not sure what he was negating but positive it was the correct response. He wasn't in touch with his family. They wanted nothing to do with him. But Alastair had no right to know that, no right to anything of Dean's life. Dean had survived years in the hell that was Alastair's home and come out stronger on the other side. He could survive this. "We are not here to talk about Castiel. We are not here to talk about my family. We're here to talk about what I did to Naomi Tapping and Zachariah Adler. We're here to talk about how you're going to help me, and how much your help is going to cost me."

"My billables are $500 per hour," said Alastair innocuously, pretending he didn't know _exactly_ what Dean meant.

"Not a problem." Dean suspected his mother would cry even harder if she knew how much money Dean made, how successful being _sick_ had made him. "And the rest?"

"We'll talk about that later, if at all," Alastair replied with a dismissive wave belied by the familiarly sadistic gleam in his eye. "So, Dean, tell me what happened yesterday evening."

As Dean repeated the carefully considered lie he'd told the police, his thoughts churned only to settle on one essential point. Alastair would enjoy keeping Dean wondering about _later_ for as long as he could get away with doing so.

* * *

"Shit, Cas, what're you still doing here?" asked Dean, raking a hand through his disheveled, oily hair. It had taken until evening for Alastair to secure Dean's freedom, but as expected the asswipe had worked his magic and earned his ludicrous hourly rate. Dean was free. Cas was free.

"I waited for you." Cas sounded as exhausted as Dean felt. His soiled suit was gone; the EMTs had graciously provided him with hospital scrubs that were two sizes too big and incandescently green. He slumped in a crappy plastic chair in the lobby of the police precinct, elbows on his knees, hands limp between his legs, looking up at Dean like a lost puppy who'd finally found his master. The bruises on Castiel's neck were a lurid purplish blue, yellowing at the edges, unmissable as they contrasted disgustingly with the neon shirt. His cheek bones, normally prominent, seemed more so in the harsh lighting, making his stubbled cheeks appear sunken.

"Have you eaten?" Dean said, concerned. The police had decided Dean was telling the truth and Naomi was lying, believed that Dean had assaulted her, not Cas. Naomi and Adler were, Alastair had reported with cruel relish, handcuffed to their hospital beds. The two were now awaiting their own lawyers, charged with kidnapping, assault, false imprisonment, and likely more; Alastair had sicced his paralegals on tracking down other former subs of theirs to see how many more accusations could be made to stick.

Cas' eyes grew shadowed as he thought about his answer to Dean's question. "No." It wouldn't be an easy trial. Many ignorant people would think as Cas too often thought: that a sub giving consent at the beginning of a scene meant that they relinquished the right to object to anything done to their bodies throughout the duration of the scene. Educating a jury on BDSM enough that they'd understand the fine demarcations between submission and assault would be challenging. Given Alastair's own disregard for those demarcations, it was ludicrously ironic that he'd likely be involved in constructing such an argument.

"Come on," Dean started firmly, then cut himself off with a shake. "No. Sorry. The last thing you need is me making assumptions about what's best for you. I'm working on it. What do _you_ want to do now, Cas?"

"Will you take me home, Dean?" Cas turned his head up into the light to look at Dean. Fluorescent white glimmered deep in spectacular blue, giving Castiel's eyes an inhuman glow. Even Cas' sallow, scruffy, fatigued expression couldn't hide how beautiful he was in his earnestness.

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go, Castiel," Dean breathed, awed. "But how about we start with your room at the Omni? It's a little late for us to drive back to KC just now…"

"I'd like that, Dean." Dean had no idea if Cas meant he'd like to go back to the Omni or he'd like to go to Kansas City, and he didn't have the nerve to ask. "Stay the night?"

Offering his hand, Dean smiled genuinely and was overjoyed to earn a hesitant, matching smile from Cas. "For as long as you want me to, I swear, I will do my damnedest to take care of you, Cas. I'll be the dom you deserve."

"I know you will," said Cas, taking Dean's hand, smooth skin on calloused sending a shiver down Dean's spine. "I'll try, Dean." Though the words didn't obviously connect with anything Dean had said, nonetheless he knew exactly what Cas meant. "I'll try."

"We'll try," Dean amended and Castiel's smile widened. "We'll try together."

* * *

Disclaimer: Everything I know about the law I learned from Law and Order. Anything that doesn't make sense please accept with a hand wave of "Alastair is just that fucking good at his job." Cause I don't even know enough to know what I surely got wrong, but that's the vibe I was going for.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel woke up alone.

Panic set in instantly. Heart thumping, he jerked upright in bed, vision blanking in the bright light of morning that flooded the room.

"Hey, Cas," said Dean. The anxiety clenching at Castiel eased, but the adrenaline surge didn't ebb. "Shit, you okay?"

"I thought you'd gone," mumbled Castiel, embarrassed by his dependence, his worry, his reaction. Despite their time scening together long distance, they hardly knew each other. It was wrong of Castiel to already _need_ Dean so desperately. His vision cleared and revealed Dean crossing the room to him, movements a little jerky but no less attractive for his slightly bowed legs and the awkward way he swung his arms at his sides. The mattress bounced as Dean settled beside him but restrained himself from touching. "You don't have to be so careful of me." Dean looked down and away, not closing the distance. _He's so beautiful. He's so aware. He makes mistakes – he's made mistakes – but he's trying so hard._ Setting a hand on Dean's chest, Castiel leaned forward and hesitantly brushed a kiss over Dean's lips. Dean's only answer was to gust sultry air over Castiel's cheeks. "Is this okay, Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean breathed. "Fuck, yeah. I want…" Dean grimaced and trailed off with a minute shake of his head. Instead of continuing, Dean reciprocated the kiss just as gently, just as uncertainly.

Wrapping an arm around Dean's neck, Castiel encouraged him, keeping their lips together, bringing their bodies closer together. Their heads shifted, their mouths worked together. Dean wrapped a strong arm around Castiel's waist; Castiel nervously flicked his tongue out to brush against Dean's lips and reveled in the flavor that flooded his mouth when Dean opened to him. Never parting, soft sounds of pleasure easing every movement, they shifted incrementally until Castiel lay down on the bed once more, Dean hovering on hands and knees over him. The lingering rush of energy brought by Castiel's fear collided with the heat of their kisses and the stress of the past few days to leave him dizzy with arousal. Stiffening the arm he had around Dean's waist, Castiel urged Dean to close the space between their bodies. He wanted Dean to feel how hard he was. He wanted to feel that Dean was as hard he was.

The room phone rang shrilly.

With a growl, Dean broke off their kiss and let his head hang. "Really?" he snapped.

"Ignore it," Castiel suggested. Sure, it was Thursday morning and on any normal day Castiel would have been at work an hour already, but he'd spent all day Tuesday trapped in his office with Naomi and all day Wednesday being interrogated by the police, by Alastair, by a district attorney, and for once his job was the last thing on his mind.

The ringing stopped. Smiling triumphantly, Dean leaned in to kiss Castiel again.

The phone began ringing again.

"Damn," said Castiel, sighing. "I'd better…"

"Yeah, yeah, you do that," Dean said, rolling on to his back beside where Castiel lay. No longer distracted by their make out session, Castiel could see Dean's erection prominently tenting the pajama bottoms he'd borrowed the previous evening.

 _He really does want me. Even knowing everything. Wow._

Knowing that made it much harder to force himself up, but the call might be important. It might be a lawyer, it might be Anna, it might be the police, it might be…

"What happened?" said a familiar voice in lieu of introduction as soon as Castiel lifted the phone. Joshua.

"Good morning, sir," Castiel said, thoughts scrambling towards an adequate answer. "I'm…I'm not sure where to begin."

"Try the beginning," Joshua replied grimly. Castiel hunched in on himself, nervous, intimidated to hear the unhappiness in his boss' voice.

 _God, what's the beginning of this? Is it Tuesday morning, when I arrived and Naomi was there? Sunday when Adler and I had sex? 20 years ago when I agreed to meet Naomi in her office with no idea of what was in store for me? How can I possibly…?_

A warm embrace interrupted Castiel's spiraling worries. Dean took up a position behind him, pressing their bodies together, wrapping one hand over Castiel's opposite hip, the other hand over Castiel's heart. Castiel released a shuddering breath, deflating into Dean's arms.

"I apologize that things became out of hand," Castiel said, taking strength from Dean's proximity. "The beginning…unbeknownst to me, Adler and I had a previous relationship. A _sexual_ relationship." He paused to hear Joshua's reaction to this initial revelation, but all that Joshua said was:

"Go on."

"It was many years ago, when I was in college," Castiel continued. Closing his eyes, he focused on Dean's heartening presence. He'd already told Dean all of this, if he pretended he was speaking only to Dean, repeating revelations Dean was familiar with, it would be easier to get the words out. "I never learned Mr. Adler's full name then, and I didn't recognize his appearance now, so many years later. However, in retrospect I believe he recognized me some time ago. I was in a bad situation then, dating someone who did not respect my boundaries and who was abusive at times." _She was, she truly was. It's not just that I was a bad sub. Naomi was a bad dom and a terrible person who treated me cruelly. Contrast her behavior yesterday with Dean's treatment of me…_ "I ultimately fled, changed my name and put the entire incident behind me." _Castiel Shurley died that day._ "However, about six months ago I signed up for an anonymous dating website."

The longer he spoke, the more his heart pounded. Joshua's presence on the other end of the line was palpable; it was impossible to maintain the fantasy that Castiel spoke only to Dean. Even admitting as much as he was saying was agony, but he _needed_ Joshua as an ally if he was going to weather this crisis. He'd defied Adler on Monday morning, naming Joshua his support, but everything had changed since then. "The site in question catered to impersonal, long distance relationships. Given the nature of my job, I thought that best. My time on the site was brief, though. I responded to contact initiated by two men. The first was Metallicar67."

"Is that the username for this…" There was a pause and the tak-tak of typing. "Mr. Dean Winchester whose name figures prominently on this report?"

"Yes," confimed Castiel. "The other used the name SandyBlueEyes100. At the time, I didn't realize that was Mr. Adler. After a little over a week, I discontinued my use of the website, broke off contact with SandyBlueEyes100 and continued to communicate with D…Mr. Winchester." This part was easier to explain; he'd gone over it with the police so many times in the past 36 hours that it no longer caused a sting of mortification. "When I arrived in Dallas, I received an e-mail from SandyBlueEyes100 at my castiel dot j dot novak Sandover account. I never revealed my name or my place of employment on the website or to the people I met through it – Dean, sorry, Mr. Winchester, did not learn my identity until Monday, for example – and so I was alarmed. The e-mail was…compromising. Adler saw it over my shoulder, I believe, and over the following weeks made many innuendos about it. All the while, I received additional e-mails, always accompanied soon after by an uncomfortable visit by Adler. I eventually pieced together that I'd known Adler many years ago and that he was SandyBlueEyes100. Only someone who had been present at the events pictured could have had those photographs. I didn't possess most of them, even."

"And the nature of those pictures?"

Castiel swallowed, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow despite the heat of Dean's presence supporting him. "It's better if he finds out from you," murmured Dean reassuringly in Castiel's ear. "You can do this. You were strong enough to face down Naomi and you're strong enough for this." Less sure of that than Dean seemed to be, Castiel hesitated.

 _Dean says that, but he doesn't know what happened in that office. He doesn't know how I broke. He doesn't know how I dissociated. He doesn't know that I don't even remember hitting Naomi, because I haven't had the courage to tell him. If he realized how out of control I am, he'd be frightened. He might end things._

"Novak – Castiel – you understand that your personal life is your business provided it does not impact your work, correct?" said Joshua.

 _I'll have to tell him ultimately. I have to. I have to trust him and give him opportunities to demonstrate that my trust is not misplaced._

"I appreciate that, sir," Castiel took a deep breath that caused his chest to ache. "But it _did_ impact my work."

"Only because of Mr. Adler's alleged sexual harassment," Joshua countered. "Please, continue."

"Right," muttered Castiel. He blinked once slowly, deliberately, and proceeded, "I enjoy a dev—" Dean's arms tightened suddenly, interrupting him. "I engage in an _alternative_ lifestyle," Castiel tried again, and Dean's embrace eased. "I…um…" _Just say it._ "That is…" _Jesus, can't even admit it aloud? He probably knows already anyway._ "I'm a submissive and a masochist, sir," Castiel blurted. "The situation during which I met Mr. Adler previously, he was serving as the dominant partner, though I…I hadn't exactly agreed to that. My regular dom – the person who abused me – was a woman named Naomi Tapping; Adler was a friend of hers."

"Ah," said Joshua. "The woman who you were locked in the office with. This begins to make sense."

Dean's thumbs gently massaged over Castiel's belly and heart. "There was…an issue…in my current relationship with Mr. Winchester, and so over the weekend I approached Mr. Adler to have relations. He agreed. However, I was injured during our time together, so I was unable to go to work on Monday. On Tuesday morning, when I arrived, Ms. Tapping was waiting for me in my office. She indicated that Mr. Adler had told her where to find me. I believe he facilitated her access to the building, aided her in trapping me. They locked me in my office for 15 hours." _It felt like a lifetime_. "I was…I grew distressed." _I completely panicked._ "I, um, I lashed out." _Dean's story is good enough for the police but Joshua needs to know the truth._ "Even after…that…when I pounded on the door, Mr. Adler wouldn't release me." _She wouldn't stop talking. No matter how I begged, no matter how agitated and upset I grew. I had to make her stop talking, I had to make it stop, I had to get out of that room, please let me out, Zachariah, I_ have _to get out, I can't be a prisoner again – never again, never—_

"You're alright," whispered Dean. Castiel came back to himself, hand gripping the receiver painfully tight, blood racing dizzily. "You're free. You're safe. They can't hurt you now. They'll never hurt you again."

"You can't know that," breathed Castiel.

"What was that, Novak?"

"I can." Dean's lips were gentle on Castiel's earlobe, his warm breath soothing. "Because I know Alastair. They're not getting out of prison."

"Mr. Winchester somehow gained access to the building and freed me," Castiel finished in a rush. "That's everything that happened. That's everything I know."

"I see." Joshua's tone was unreadable, and Castiel immediately assumed the worst despite the continuing stream of reassurance that Dean offered. "So, am I correct in understanding that you and Mr. Adler had sex on Sunday?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled Castiel. Of course Joshua refused to use the softened language Castiel had attempted to employ to soften his embarrassment and culpability.

"But that only took place because of the harassing e-mails and behavior that preceded it?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"I see." There was a short pause that felt like it went on forever. Castiel tensed, awaiting the worst. "Novak, I could wish you'd gone to HR or spoken to me as soon as you received the first inappropriate e-mail, but if a mistake requires a time machine to fix it, there's no point dwelling on it. Given the nature of your interactions with Adler, there will need to be an internal inquiry and you are likely to be officially reprimanded for having sexual relations with him. However, it is clear who the aggressor was in this instance and I will speak in your favor. Do you believe you can complete the Industrial Alliances merger without Adler's help?"

"Sir?" asked Castiel, stunned.

 _This…is okay? He's not firing me? He doesn't blame me?_

"The merger is _extremely_ important to Sandover," Joshua reiterated. "Our stock prices plunged yesterday in the wake of newspaper reports of what happened on Tuesday. What aid will you need to fix things while Adler is incarcerated?"

"None," managed Castiel. "I can definitely finish this myself. Adler and I didn't work well together; though I didn't know his link to my past there was constant friction between us that interfered with our ability to collaborate because of his repeated suggestive comments. If Alfie can help me – and maybe if Anna could come from Columbus? – we can absolutely still complete the merger in a timely fashion."

"Excellent." All sense that Joshua's neutral tone was a dire portent faded. He sounded professional, distant but not unkind. "Take today off, Novak. We're waiting for approval from their Corporate Board. You have been an asset to Sandover for 13 years; we will stand by you in this."

"Thank you," said Castiel faintly.

"Please type up a report of what you have told me so I can present it to the HR review board on your behalf," Joshua continued. "No need for you to expose yourself again. Good day!"

The line went dead. Lost in wonder, Castiel slowly replaced the receiver.

"Everything okay?" Dean asked.

"I think maybe…"

"Awesome." Dean placed a kiss on Castiel's neck, sending a wave of heat through Castiel, but his stomach turned.

 _Stop. Please, stop. Despite what we started before…now that the moment is passed, now that I've had to relive the past few days, I don't think I can do that now. I feel too gross. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry._

"Dean…" He couldn't find the words to put Dean off. Dean wanted him. It was Castiel's place to satisfy that desire, right? The hand on Castiel's hip trailed down to his softened cock, fondled him, and a distressed sound leaked from Castiel before he could repress it. Dean released him go and leapt back as if burned.

"Fucking hell…Cas, if you don't want me touching you, you gotta _say something_ man," Dean snapped. "I can't read your damn mind!"

"I'm sorry," Castiel mumbled, mortified.

 _Am I embarrassed that he discovered my omission or am I embarrassed that I'm so weak that I couldn't tolerate his touch, couldn't pretend I wanted it right now?_

"Being sorry every time isn't enough," said Dean, taking a deep breath. As he exhaled, the anger drained from his face; instead he looked tired and sad. "Please…just…talk to me. I'm not going to force you. I don't want to do anything you don't want. Earlier…was that you…were you just humoring me before, too?"

"No!" Castiel said. "When I first woke up…that was good. And holding me on the phone, that was good, too. The things you said to me helped. Thank you. But…I'm not ready for more yet. I wish I was. I feel I should be. But I'm really not. Is that…is it really okay?"

"Whatever you need, Cas." Dean stepped back, reaching down to adjust himself as he turned away. "So, uh, I don't know what you had in mind for today – I overheard your boss telling you not to go to work, sorry, didn't mean to eavesdrop but the phone was loud – but I gotta meet with Alastair. I'm worried about leaving you alone. Would it be okay if maybe I invited Gilda over or something?"

"I don't want to be alone," agreed Castiel. "Gilda would be a perfect solution. And when you're done with Alastair, maybe we can talk more? I'm worried about you, Dean."

"I'm worried 'bout you too, Cas." Dean stopped by the window, where an arm chair and a small table sat. A pad of paper and a pen rested atop the table; Dean tapped the pad. "So, um, I was trading texts with Pam – I mean, Dr. Barnes, my therapist? – this morning cause I was up kinda early. She suggested some doctors she knows who could accommodate your weird-ass schedule and travel – folks who are tech savvy and won't mind, say, Skyping while you're abroad." Castiel stared, gaze flicking unblinking to where Dean's finger thudded against the paper.

 _He thinks I need fixing._

"Sorry if that was presumptuous of me. I know you haven't actually said you wanted to…do that…but I just…I want to help," said Dean in a rush. "Just like I wanted to help on Tuesday. You don't have to use 'um. Even if you decide you want therapy, you still don't have to use these, you can find your own doc or whatever."

 _He's not wrong_.

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel said, walking over and looking at the page. There were five names scrawled on it, phone numbers written below them. "I said I'd try to do better, and I will."

"Thanks, Cas."

"Before you meet with Alastair, can you take me to an AT&T store? I need to replace my cell phone."

"Sure."

"And then drop me off at _Hack and Slash_?"

"Sounds like a plan." Dean gave Castiel a shy smile; Castiel managed one in return. "We're gonna be okay, Cas."

"I hope so," Castiel said. "I care about you, Dean. A lot. This is all…just…"

"I know," said Dean gently. "I know."

* * *

Over the days that followed, Dean said little about his meetings with Alastair. Castiel was called in several times to give depositions, but otherwise he was uninvolved in the proceedings. Though he was worried about Dean, he was relieved that the legal case was not taking more of his time, for the Industrial Alliances merger was nearing completion, Bela Talbot had arrived in Dallas and finalizing every detail was eating all Castiel's time. Anna's arrival on Saturday was a godsend; with her and Alfie's help, they worked all weekend to make up for the time lost to Adler and Naomi's assault. By the time Castiel got home each evening, he was exhausted and content to curl up in Dean's arms.

The first therapist on Dean's list wasn't taking new patients. The office of the second was so brusque on the phone that Castiel hung up on them, heart pounding with shame. It took him three days to work up the nerve to continue making calls, but he was glad he did. Dr. James Ellicott was a psychiatrist, not a therapist, but he was covered by Castiel's insurance and he took Castiel's call personally. Ellicott was based in Illinois, so the chances of them meeting in person were slim, but Castiel found him easy to talk to and they agreed to two meetings a week by cell phone until December 1st, when Castiel would be heading to Johannesburg for a week, then north to Nairobi. The doctor promised to have set up a Skype account by then, and Castiel stole a few minutes one evening to reactivate his.

Dean seemed as exhausted as Castiel felt. The weeks of work that Dean had canceled to come south were costly for him, though he didn't complain about it, and so Dean put out feelers to the Dallas community and scheduled as many local photoshoots as he could. When he wasn't dealing with the law, he was running around the area, doing weddings, kink shoots, someone's Quinceañera, everything he could find. Charlie and Gilda ran back up for him. Secretly, Castiel was relieved. Presumably due to his stress and tiredness, Dean didn't try to initiate relations again, and Castiel was not put in the unpleasant position of having to say no again. It wasn't that he didn't want Dean – he did, _God_ did he, but he felt so dirty, so used, that he couldn't bring himself to accept Dean's touch. That he'd almost done so while half-awake and freaked out that first morning only made it worse. Castiel didn't want to make love to Dean because of a failure of his self-control. He wanted it to be a choice' he wanted both of them to choose it, both of them to want it.

Their days together were running out.

Comparing schedules, they had no possibility of seeing each other in person again until at least February.

"No pressure," Dean said with an easy smile, but it didn't matter that Dean forgave him. Castiel felt pressure. He didn't want to let Dean down. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of that gorgeous body. He wanted to kiss Dean's lips red. He wanted Dean to tie him up and tear him open and punish him for every time that Castiel screwed up.

That _also_ wasn't an option. Dean wasn't his dom, not yet. Just his boyfriend.

Wanting to make love wasn't enough. Castiel had to feel he _deserved_ Dean's affections as well. In light of recent events, the barriers thrown up by Castiel's sick mind seemed insurmountable.

"Why do you feel disgusting?" Ellicott asked during their third phone session.

"I told you," Castiel exclaimed. "I've been with so many people, I agreed to all of it, I…I…heck two weeks ago I soiled myself! Literally soaked myself in my own filth. And it wasn't even the first time." _It wasn't even the tenth time._ "How could I feel anything other than disgusting?" It had taken their first two hour-long sessions for Castiel to relate the basics of his history. Speaking of his time with Naomi had been difficult and didn't get any easier, but he'd dredged up enough that Ellicott was satisfied that he understood some of what Castiel had been through. The rest, Ellicott said, could be discussed as it came up.

"You do understand that none of that is inherently _dirty_ , correct? You perceive it as such, but others will not necessarily do so. The question is, _why_ do you perceive yourself as despoiled by those activities?"

 _Because everything I did was gross! Because…because…_

"I don't know," Castiel said, stunned. "But I am – I know I am."

 _But I don't want to be._

"We've got a lot to talk about," Ellicott said kindly. "But you're going to be okay, Castiel."

* * *

"I swear to fucking God, he gets off on making me wait." There was heat in Dean's voice, not reflected in the dejected way he slumped back on the bed. At Castiel's unsure look, Dean clarified, "Alastair. He knows I owe him a favor but he refuses to talk about it."

"You know, if he asks for something you're not comfortable with, you can say 'no' regardless of what he thinks you owe him," suggested Castiel. It was a lesson that he and Ellicott had spent an entire session on – that Castiel wasn't required to agree with his dom simply because he'd previously agreed to submit. As difficult as it might be to implement, Castiel better understood that in theory he was allowed to say 'no,' especially when he wasn't in a scene. He'd been practicing with Dean and thus far had been rewarded with encouraging results. Not only did Dean respect him, but he gave Castiel a radiant smile every time Castiel declined something he wasn't interested in – the same smile he was giving Castiel now.

"If only it were that easy," Dean said, glum despite his grin. "Oh well, guess I'll cross that shit storm when I get to it."

Shrugging out of his suit jacket, Castiel climbed onto the bed beside Dean, met his eyes. In dim light they were dark but no less beautiful. "Together, Dean."

"No." The word came out harsh. Dean's eyes narrowed. Unwilling to be put off, Castiel held Dean's gaze until the lines of tension eased off Dean's face. "I don't want him in the same room as you. I don't want him in the same _city_ as you. I'm so glad you're leaving the country, you have no fucking idea."

Though Castiel knew the words were meant protectively and kindly, they stung. The part of Castiel's mind that twisted everything around gleefully misinterpreted Dean's statement. _He'll be happy when you're gone. He doesn't want to see you. He doesn't want to be near you. He doesn't want to touch you_.

 _No. That is not what he said. That is not what he meant._

Ellicott had explained to Castiel some basic strategies for coping with his anxiety while the doctor learned more to inform his decision on whether medication would be an appropriate solution for Castiel. Castiel was loathe to take pills of he could help it. Resorting to chemical assistance felt like an admission of failure before he'd even tried and reminded him of the old dependence on alcohol and pot and meth that had originally driven him to Naomi's arms. With his work schedule and how frequently he travelled, keeping a prescription filled would be inconvenient. In the meantime, he'd been instructed to try self-correction: every time he caught himself saying or thinking negative things that he knew to be untrue, he was to call himself on it, same as he would if his mind were a naughty child insistent on misbehaving, same as he would if a friend or loved one treated themselves as poorly as Castiel so often treated himself.

 _Dean worries about what Alastair will do to me. He worries that when Alastair calls the debt in, it will involve me in some fashion. That is why he doesn't want me in the country. Not because Dean wishes me away. He's said more than once that he'd prefer if we could stay together._

"Whatcha thinkin'?" asked Dean, an obvious attempt to deflect the conversation back to Castiel.

 _We have so little time left together…_

"I'll miss you," Castiel admitted. Dean flushed adorably, held out an arm in invitation for Castiel to cuddle up to his side. Shifting, Castiel lay beside Dean and gently encircled Dean's waist with one arm. Dean's fingers curled around Castiel's shoulder and he kneaded the flesh.

"I didn't mean I want you to go," Dean said, breath rustling Castiel's hair. "Cas, I…you gotta know…like, the last couple weeks have been pretty shitty, but seein' you every day has been fuckin' awesome. And, like, we talk about shit now. I like it. I like you."

 _He…he really does. He means it. Even though I say no. Even though I lied to him. Even though I rebuked him. Even though I'm a bad sub. Even though I'm not his sub. Even though I'm leaving._

Tears beaded in Castiel's eyes. Dean's jaw dropped.

"Aw fuck, what'd I do? What'd I say this time?" asked Dean, alarmed.

"You mean it?" Castiel whispered.

"Uh…yeah?" Dean's alarm slipped into bafflement.

"You mean it!"

"I like you a lot, Cas," Dean repeated warmly. "However many damn times I need to say that, I will, until you believe me."

The first tear fell. "I do," said Castiel. Something warm in his breast unfolded and he gasped at the sensation. "I _do_!" He buried his face against Dean's shirt to hide how affected he was, hide how he cried. "I believe you, Dean!"

Dean rolled on to his side, wrapped both arms around Castiel's middle, and pressed his face to Castiel's hair. Wetness slicked the strands, and Castiel realized he wasn't the only one profoundly affected.

"No one has said that to me since Anna Milton in 7th grade," admitted Castiel.

Dean laughed, holding him close.

They murmured endearments to each other well into the night. Castiel wished Dean would make a move, wished Dean would touch him intimately, but he couldn't bring himself to ask for what he wanted. Instead, he glorified in what he had. It seemed a modest accomplishment that Dean _liked_ him, but it felt wonderful anyway. It wasn't a high-blown declaration: it was a small announcement, a genuine one, a true one, and Castiel valued it for that.

Long after Dean drifted to sleep, Castiel lay there and marveled at what a difference a week and a half could make. He still thought he was disgusting and broken, still feared what the future held, still worried about their relationship, still doubted his assessment of Dean's trustworthiness. However, he didn't doubt _Dean_. Whatever Castiel might be right or wrong about, whatever lies simmered and sometimes boiled over in his head, Castiel was sure that Dean cared for him.

 _I have to keep trying. I have to get better. I have to deserve him._

"I think I love you," he whispered. For a terrifying moment, he feared that Dean had heard him, but the other man didn't stir in his sleep and the anxiety drifted away. It was okay. He was allowed to feel that way. He was allowed to care. He was allowed to be cared for.

Maybe, if he kept at it long enough, if he repeated those things to himself enough times, he'd come to believe them.

* * *

Thanksgiving was a low-key affair hosted at Charlie's house. Dean hadn't even brought the subject up, Castiel had been planning to work, but when Charlie found out neither of them meant to eat turkey she'd literally gone on the warpath, brandishing foam weapons at the two of them until they surrendered and agreed to cranberry sauce. Only the four of them attended, for both Charlie nor Gilda were orphans. Castiel's family was too far away, though he did call them and wish a happy day to his mother and father. Dean went silent at the mention of family. Castiel couldn't decide if it was appropriate to push.

Despite Castiel's admissions as regarded Naomi and Adler, Dean remained secretive about Alastair and his past. It didn't affect Castiel's faith in Dean but it was a reminder that Castiel had violated Dean's trust and would have to earn it back.

When they'd finally packed in as much food as they could possibly hold – Dean had begged off seconds, and thirds, and fourths, and surrendered each time at the hang-dog look Charlie gave him – they took leftovers and headed back to the hotel. Since the incidents at Sandover, Dean had spent every night with Castiel, eventually moving the few belongings he had in Dallas from Charlie's living room to the Omni.

The atmosphere in the car was strained and quiet as they drove back to the room.

 _Unless…_

The past few days, since the last time he spoke to Dr. Ellicott, Castiel had noticed that he wasn't always objective as regarded assessing the ambient mood. His worries and fears colored his interpretation of events. There had been past times when he'd thought Dean angry or frustrated or put off and found Dean's behavior mystifying, inexplicable even, until he realized that he'd misunderstood the situation. There was only one way to find out if this was one of those times.

"Are you upset with me?" Castiel ventured hesitantly. Sometimes when he asked such questions, he got gentle reassurances; other times he got flares of Dean's temper, sparks fueled by Dean's frustration that Castiel still doubted him despite everything Dean had said and done.

Dean's inconsistent reactions weren't okay. That's what Dr. Ellicott said when Castiel tried to blame himself for the times when Dean lashed out.

They were working on it.

"No, Cas, you're fine," said Dean, sounding exhausted. "Why'd ya think I'm pissed at you? What'd I do wrong now?"

"Nothing – nothing," Castiel replied, staring out the car window. "I'm sorry if my…inabilities…are leading you to feel brow-beaten, Dean."

"Just…lay off for one night, will ya Cas?" said Dean. There was a pleading note in his voice that Castiel couldn't deny.

 _I've pushed him too far, too hard, too quickly. I've been too difficult. He's fed up with me._

"Of course, Dean."

 _This might have absolutely nothing to do with me. It's a holiday. Dean never talks about his family. I have to trust him. It's unfair that I doubt him all the time. Yes, he violated my trust when he came to Dallas and approached me, when he came back after I asked him not to, but that was borne out of his concern. He's never done anything to hurt me that I didn't agree to._

 _Naomi never did anything to hurt me that I didn't agree to._

 _No, that's not true. She did. I never explicitly agreed to be bound. I never agreed to be used by other doms. I agreed to be hers. My consent was_ not _implied. It has to be explicit._

 _With Dean, my consent and his_ has _been explicit at every stage of our interactions except our actual meeting._

 _They're different. They're so different._

The rest of the short drive passed in silence. Returning to the hotel room, they each engaged in their evening rituals independently, mechanically.

There were many reasons Dean might be uncomfortable. He longed to ask what was troubling Dean, if only for the selfish reassurance that Castiel himself wasn't the problem, but Dean had asked him not to so he kept his mouth shut. With nothing else to distract him, he lay in bed long after the lights were out, staring up at the ceiling. Insomnia had been a growing problem for him of late, and nights like this exacerbated the problem. Dean had taken to his side of the bed and promptly turned to face the wall, his back to Castiel, and he breathed the deep, even inhales and exhales of deep sleep.

 _Even if I'm right and it has nothing to do with me, his silence still means he doesn't trust me._

 _I can't say that I blame him. I don't trust me._

His throat felt uncomfortably tight, his insides thick from the rich, overabundant meal. His thoughts refused to still; there was nothing to distract him from his anxiety, nothing to lull him to sleep.

A hand found his beneath the covers, entwined their fingers. Sweaty palm found sweaty palm. Dean's grip was weak but undeniable.

"Dean?" Castiel asked softly in case the movement had been done in sleep.

"It's not you, Cas," whispered Dean. "I fuckin' hate the holidays. I shoulda told you. I'll be worse on Christmas."

"Do you want to talk about it?" said Castiel.

There was a long pause. Castiel wondered if Dean had fallen asleep again – wondered if Dean had slept at all.

"Not now," said Dean at length. Silence stretched out again, and once again Castiel thought Dean must have fallen asleep, until, "But maybe some time."

"It's up to you, Dean," Castiel replied. Hesitantly, he rolled on to his side so he faced Dean's hunched back, reached out and stroked a hand down Dean's spine. Dean shuddered, venting a strange, breathy noise to the room, but he didn't draw away. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah, Cas," Dean murmured. "It's nice."

Thus reassured, Castiel drew closer to Dean, used both hands to caress and soothe and massage away Dean's tension. A long time passed as, incrementally, Dean eased against the bed, his muscles went lax, his breaths grew once more long and steady. The night stretched out, endless, and Castiel could think of nothing better to do than continue his attentions to Dean's body. Dean still hadn't attempted to initiate intimacy between them again. Beyond snuggling close most evenings, Dean hardly touched him. Increasingly, Castiel felt that lack, was saddened by it, but he could _make_ Dean want him.

 _Maybe it's not me at all. Maybe…_

"I wonder what my brother grew up to be," whispered Dean. There was such sadness in his voice that Castiel thought his heart might break. Shimmying over on the bed, Castiel lined his body up with Dean's and held him close, played the big spoon for the first time since they'd started sharing a bed. Dean gave a distressed whimper and leaned back into Castiel.

"I've got you, Dean. I've got you."

It was a long time before either of them fell asleep.

* * *

"You're waiting for me," Castiel announced without preamble as he walked into his hotel room, the door slamming behind him. Dean looked up from his phone, startled.

"Uh…yeah?" he replied, confused. "I mean, that's what we agreed, right? Meet in your room tonight? Grab some dinner, maybe go say 'bye' to Charlie and Gilda?"

Dean was leaving the next day.

The merger was completed; Castiel was flying out the morning after.

The trial was on the docket for the local court, and depending how things went Castiel might have to return to testify, but he might not. The lawyers estimated it would be at least six months before either of them would be needed again.

"No," said Castiel. "You're waiting for me before we have sex. You're waiting for me to say we _should_ have sex."

"Yes…?"

"Even though we discussed it, and I agreed that I would make an effort to be clear when I wished touch and when I didn't, you have not risked initiating again," Castiel clarified. "You've been waiting for me to make the first move."

"Yes," confirmed Dean, understanding dawning on his face. "I—"

"Stop waiting," interrupted Castiel.

"Cas?" Dean said hopefully.

"I want to have sex, Dean," Castiel said.

 _Damn_ did it feel good to just go out and _say_ what he wanted without fear of the consequences!~ What few nerves jangled over his admission vanished as Dean bull-rushed Castiel from across the room, crowded him against the door, kissed him as if he was dying for it.

"This okay, Cas?" Dean asked breathily between frantic brushes of lips against lips. "Not comin' on too strong?"

"Keep going," Castiel encouraged. Why hadn't it occurred to him previously to just _ask_ for what he wanted?

Because knowing that _no meant no_ wasn't the same as understanding that _yes meant yes_. Because years with Naomi had taught him that asking for what he wanted didn't necessarily correlate with getting it. Because sometimes asking for what he wanted had been a guarantee that he _wouldn't_ get it. And sure, it'd only been a few weeks since he and Dean had met in person, but Dean had never been anything but honest with him – to the point of inappropriateness sometimes – and Dr. Ellicott had been working on convincing Castiel to trust himself more. After all, the doctor pointed out, it wasn't that Castiel had misjudged Naomi all those years ago, it was that he'd ignored the warning signs intentionally, that he'd fed his addiction just as he had with drugs and alcohol previously, until he couldn't see the way out any longer. Things were different now. Castiel was different now. Dean was different. Every time they interacted proved that more. Naomi had never kissed Castiel as if starved for the taste of him. Naomi had never held Castiel night after night without expecting anything in return. Naomi would never have checked if Castiel was okay with being pressed against the wall. Naomi had never worried about his pleasure, would never have ghosted her hands up his sides as Dean was now doing.

"Hope I didn't give the impression I didn't want you." It was hard to make sense of what Dean said, frantic kisses interrupting between every word, every syllable, but Castiel pieced it together. "I do, Cas, shit do I." Dean broke off the kiss to rest his forehead against the solid door alongside Castiel's head. His chest heaved as he breathed heavily. Limbs trembling, Castiel thought if it weren't for Dean's hands on him, Castiel would be on his knees. _And probably have my lips around his cock._

"Used to stare at the goddamn dildo when we weren't in a scene," Dean panted, "imagine it was your cock, wish that I could use it when you weren't with me but it felt so fuckin' wrong to stick it, stick _you_ ,inside my body when you weren't watching, when I wouldn't be able to see the way your eyes went wide and your breath got all shallow when you saw me fuckin' myself with it. Once we started doin' whatever the fuck we've been doing I didn't use any other dildos either, I tried to, I really fuckin' did, but it wasn't the same because it wasn't _you_. I seriously fuckin' hope you've got some lube and that you're thinkin' anal cause I want to ride you into the fucking mattress, Cas. I wanna…" Dean trailed off in a moan that Castiel couldn't help but echo. His entire body tingled with helpless pleasure, Dean's words washing over him in waves, transforming into sensation and bliss. "…wanna ride you til you come, tease you til you're hard again, do it again, do it until you beg me not to, however many times I can get you off. My record is four times in one night – wanna see if you can beat that, wanna see if we can beat that together, fuck, I wanna see you fuckin' dripping with my come, Cas, wanna feel yours leaking out of my ass, wanna feel the ache the whole fucking drive home, and for weeks to come – give me something to think about until I actually get to see you again."

"Oh my God, Dean," Castiel moaned, seeing it all so clearly in his mind's eye, imagining how perfect it would feel to finally, _finally_ sink himself into Dean's willing body. "I've got lube…it's in the toy box…but condoms, we should use a condom and I don't have any and—" The words died in a groan as Dean's hand found Castiel's hard shaft and tight balls through Castiel's suit pants. Kneading hard, nails digging in, Dean worked at Castiel's erection and Castiel feared he might come on the spot. Dean was touching him. Dean was stimulating him while Dean's erection strained at the front of his pants and Dean stared into Castiel's eyes with a possessive, hungry expression.

"Don't need a condom," whispered Dean, edging his face so close to Castiel's that Dean's lips brushed Castiel's stubble. "Wanna feel you inside me, wanna feel _all_ of you, Cas – want you to feel it too."

 _Oh, okay, if that's what he wants, I could do that, I could…but it's not safe, I had sex with Adler like two weeks ago and…but Dean wants me to, Dean said…but it'd be wrong, what if I'm sick, what if I get him sick, I don't want to take that chance…Dean's made his desires very clear and he doesn't want to use a condom, so I should…so I should obey his previously stated wishes and_ tell him _when things make me uncomfortable…but what if he was lying, what if he punishes me, what if he locks me up, what if…no, no, I have to trust him, I have to try to trust him or else…_

"No!" gasped Castiel, chest growing tight as his heartbeat raced for all the wrong reasons. _But I have to…no I don't, I don't have to._ "Please…I'd rather…I bet the hotel has condoms, we can ask…but if you really wanted to…"

"Hey," Dean interrupted soothingly. The aggressive look faded, the dominant touches went away. Castiel's knees went weak but Dean caught him in a supportive embrace before he fell. "It's okay, I'm glad you said something. If you want to use a condom, we'll use a condom. I've got one in my wallet which might still be good, we can check it first. We don't ever have to go bareback if you don't want to."

"It's not that I don't want to, Dean," Castiel managed. "But I'd rather get tested first. I don't want you to get sick because of…of…of _him_ , because I was stupid and made poor choices."

"Not stupid, Cas," said Dean. "You were upset, and you _did_ make a bad choice, but that doesn't make you stupid. Took me years to figure that out about me." Stepping back, Dean gradually reduced how much of Castiel's bodyweight he was supporting until Castiel was standing on his own. "You okay?" Castiel nodded, the room spinning. "Good. So…" Digging in his pocket, Dean pulled out his wallet, a simple, worn brown leather affair, and he flipped through the billfold and card sleeves until he found what he was looking for with a triumphant "ah ha!" The foil wrapping rustled, twinkling strangely in the low light of the room, and Dean examined it until he found the expiration date. "It's still November, right?"

"It's still November," confirmed Castiel, smiling.

"Then we're good!" Dean grinned back. "Expiration date on this thing isn't til December. And yeah, I know how pathetic it makes my sex life sound that I've been carrying this thing around long enough that it's nearly dead."

"Well, if you prefer bareback…"

"No, Cas," said Dean firmly. "I don't have unprotected sex with any random hook up I meet. I want _you_ , I want _all_ of you. And I…I want to offer the same. Like, I want to be yours. Exclusively."

"Dean…" It was impossible to keep the wonder out of Castiel's voice. After everything that had happened, after everything Dean knew about Castiel, Dean still wanted him. They might have a future together. _Do I want a future with him?_ Before Castiel could concentrate enough to reflect on the thought, Dean was in his personal space again, crowding him without touching, so close Castiel would swear he could feel their stubble brushing without their skin coming in contact.

"Fuck me, Cas," Dean whispered.

"I'd like that, Dean," Castiel replied. He meant so much more than sex.

He hoped that Dean meant more than sex, too.

* * *

The box of toys sat open on the nightstand. Castiel had seen the wistful looks Dean had given the vibrator, dildo, fleshlight, rope, and other items within, but he'd dutifully only withdrawn the lubricant. The glance Dean gave Castiel as he returned to the bed promised there would be a future time when they'd use all the rest. _When we scene again. If we scene again._

 _I want to scene again. What do I have to do to become his sub again?_

 _Simple. I have to trust him, and he has to trust him._

 _Simple. Right. That's simple._

Castiel laughed humorlessly.

"Didn't think I was doing anything funny," said Dean breathily. The truth was, Dean didn't need physical restraints to keep Castiel in place. After stripping Castiel down item by item, Dean had directed Castiel to lie down on the bed, and Castiel had obeyed. Dean hadn't removed his own clothing, he'd merely tugged his pants and boxers down to reveal his firm, toned ass, straddled Castiel's hips and begun using the lube to hastily finger himself open.

Castiel wanted to touch. He wanted to grab Dean and force their bodies together. He wanted to kiss. He wanted to tug Dean's shirt over his head and get his first up-close view of Dean's lovely torso. He _wanted_ , damn did he want Dean, but he wasn't yet sure what he was entitled to take. In light of his uncertainty, all he could do was watch in awe and let Dean lead the way. Strong thighs flexed beneath Dean's loose jeans as he effortlessly hovered over Castiel's exposed erection, easily reached behind himself. Dean worked quick and dirty, experienced, almost business-like as he applied the lubricant. From the front Castiel could hardly see anything; Dean's jeans were still done up, his cock obviously hard but trapped and concealed.

 _I could reach out, I could unbutton his pants, pull down the fly, touch his cock…would that be okay? He hasn't told me, and I'm not sure…_

With a squirt, Dean filled his palm with lube, wrapped his hand around Castiel's cock and jerked him off roughly. The lube was cold against his heated flesh, the condom offering scant protection, but it still felt _awesome_ , the more so because Castiel knew what Dean's actions presaged, knew exactly what was coming next. Dean was an experienced bottom; it didn't take him long to prep, and now that he was ready…

…there wasn't even a pause. Dean's lubed hand grasped the base of Castiel's cock, held Castiel steady upright, and Castiel's eyes slipped shut, his head straining back against the pillows, a deep groan erupting from him as Dean lowered himself and enveloped Castiel in one smooth movement.

"Holy shit, Cas," Dean gasped, wiggling his ass to settle Castiel within him more deeply.

"Dean!" Castiel keened. Tight and hot and wet and unspeakably good, God, it had been so long since Castiel had actual, physical sex, he might lose his mind with it.

 _Grab his hips, hold him steady, thrust and thrust and thrust and…_

Dean's weight shifted over him; even with his eyes closed Castiel could tell that Dean had settled back on his heels. The course denim strained against Castiel's body where it was stretched taut and dug painfully, pleasantly into his flesh. Just as Castiel thought he could bear the stillness no longer, as he was on the verge of begging Dean to _move_ , Dean lifted himself, dragging the tight ring of his rim over Castiel's cock, and gently lowered himself, establishing a slow, steady up-and-down rhythm. His ass made a dull _whump_ every time Dean settled against Castiel's crotch, every time he buried Castiel deep within him. The pressure around Castiel's cock was unbelievable, fabulous and damn near perfect. Castiel's hips jerked up slightly from the bed to meet Dean, his breathing synced with the pace Dean set, and every time he sank in deepest, his cock bucked and leaked early release into the slickened condom. An embarrassing noise, part grunt part whine, escaped with every pant.

"Oh yeah," Dean sighed happily. Castiel flicked his eyes open to watch Dean riding him, head thrown back, mouth slack, eyes closed, plain dark t-shirt pulled tight over his muscled chest. "Fuck, that's good. First times are never this fucking good, Cas."

 _Seize him and get him on his back and pound in to him over and over and over until I come, God, I could come so quickly if he'd let me…_

Desperate for some measure of self-restraint, Castiel dug his fingers into the bedspread, bunching the fabric as Dean began to move faster, bring their bodies together harder. Brightness saturated Castiel's vision as pleasure permeated his body, the urge to pull Dean into every thrust grew and grew.

 _But I can't, I can't, I have to last for his pleasure, I have to restrain myself, I have to be good and take only what he gives me and—_

"Touch me, Cas," pleaded Dean. "Please, I need you to…need you to touch me!"

All sense of reason fled.

That _wasn't how sex worked_. His partner – his _dom_ – didn't _beg_.

"What?" Castiel asked, stunned. Lifting his head, opening his eyes, he found Dean staring down at him, expression open and vulnerable as Castiel had ever seen on him – ever seen any dom. "I don't…"

 _I don't understand! What am I supposed to say? Tell me what to do, Dean!_

"You want this, right?" Dean implored, grinding to a halt. "Fuck, tell me – _show me_ that you're not just doing this 'cause you think I want you to. You want this, right? You want me?"

"Of course I do!" Castiel exclaimed. Dean's hips pivoted against his cock and Dean moaned intoxicatingly.

"Cas…please, Cas…"

"What do you need, Dean?" asked Castiel desperately. "Tell me – I'll do it!" His grip on the blankets was so tense his hands ached; it was a challenge to force his muscles to disengage. Hesitantly, Castiel lifted his hands to Dean's hips. Dean wanted Castiel to touch him, so…

"Not your dom right now!" Dean gasped, rolling against Castiel's cock. Jolts of pleasure made it hard to focus, hard to concentrate, hard to think beyond how much he wanted to pound into Dean until they both came. "What do _you_ want, Cas? What do you need?"

"You," Castiel stammered. "This! I don't…please Dean…" Castiel's hands tensed against Dean's hips and he thrust up hard, unable to restrain himself, jean fabric abrading his skin as Dean clenched and relaxed gloriously around him. "Feels so good inside you, so good, just tell me…" He thrust hard again. Dean hadn't told him not to, Dean hadn't—

"Yes!" Dean groaned, slamming down to meet Castiel's up-thrusts. "Don't hold back – wanna feel you, Cas, wanna know you're with me, need to know you want this!"

"I do." Words broke around panted breathes and grunts as Castiel gave in to his desire, let go his control. Dean had said he could. Dean wanted him to. "God, since the first time I saw you Dean, I've come so many times imagining how this would feel and it's…" Good felt inadequate. Amazing felt inadequate. Perfect felt inadequate. Castiel had no word for how splendid this moment was, all he had were the feelings of sheer elation coursing through him, driving him higher and higher, urging him to pound into Dean harder and harder. "It's…" Nothing more would come.

"I know," Dean panted. "Shit, I know, I know, I…" Breaking off with a groan, Dean scrambled for one of Castiel's hands, dragged it to the straining fabric over his crotch. Encouraged, Castiel kneaded at Dean's cock through the coarse material, fumbled one handed to undo the button as his other hand dug harder into Dean's side, guiding Dean's hips to meet Castiel every _wonderful_ thrust.

"I want to…" A flurry of images came at once; there was so much Castiel wanted to do, so much he'd never been allowed and that he'd dreamed of.

"Do it – do it – do me, Cas, do me, do me, do—" Castiel interrupted Dean's babbling with action. Sitting up abruptly, he pivoted to the side and dragged Dean with him. Dean squawked with surprise as his back hit the bed, groaned deep and long as the new angle sank Castiel into Dean's ass with the full force of Castiel's momentum and body weight. Snagging Dean's legs over his shoulders, Castiel settled back on his knees, pulling out nearly all the way. Despite the inconvenience of Dean's pants, Castiel could see where his cock sank into Dean's stretched hole, feel every little movement as Dean squirmed to urge Castiel to move. Fuck, did Dean look perfect, feel perfect, clenched around him. He'd watched so many times as another dick fucked that gorgeous hole, but now this was Castiel's – _Dean_ was Castiel's. Hands freed for a moment, Castiel won through Dean's pants, reached within and wrapped his grip around Dean's cock for the first time. Another full-throated groan burst from Dean and he grinded up from the bed, rubbing Castiel's length over his insides.

"Fuck, Dean," Castiel whispered, worshipfully stroking Dean's leaking erection. Dean laughed, a stuttering, breathy noise, and Castiel looked at him curiously.

"Never heard you curse before, Cas," Dean wheezed. "It's fuckin' awesome."

There were no more words after that. Castiel leaned forward, bending Dean nearly in half so that he could roll his hips against Dean's ass, work his cock over Dean's channel and prostate. One hand supported his body weight, the other stroked Dean's smooth, thick dick. He rested his sweaty forehead on Dean's shoulder and, slow and deliberate, fucked into Dean's body. Every breath from each of them was vocal, tinged with faint moans and groans, as the pleasure built and built. Castiel wanted to come, his mind overwhelmed by endorphins and bliss and need, but despite Dean's urging he refused to come first. Instead, he did his best to read Dean's body. The slack expression on Dean's face, his gasping moans, the clenching of Dean's hole mirrored in the tensing and relaxing of Dean's hands against Castiel's sides, the way his cock dripped pre-come to slicken Castiel's hand, the urgent up-thrust of Dean's hips urging Castiel to drive into him harder, faster, all hinted that Dean was close.

"Will you…will you come for me, Dean?" Castiel asked plaintively.

"Please," Dean _whimpered_ , and Castiel thought he'd fucking lose his mind to hear Dean, his boyfriend, his damn _dom_ , so destroyed.

"Tell me, Dean," he growled.

"Harder, Cas, fuck me harder!"

With a drawn out groan, Castiel complied, letting go the last of his inhibitions. Skin slapped on skin, sweat oozed down his spine, his eyes slipped shut and his hips jerked hard into Dean's tightening channel. His lips worked – he thought maybe words slipped free but he wasn't sure – and then nails dug into his back, raked roughly over the scarred flesh, and with a broken groan pleasure shattered Castiel as he filled the condom.

Castiel came to himself, hips still working weakly, whispering "Dean, Dean, Dean" against the cotton of Dean's t-shirt. Dean's chest heaved beneath him, lifting him and lowering him, jostling their bodies together in a way that shivered echoes of receding pleasure to every extremity. The hands that had abused his back now pet him, slid slickly over the sweat on his back, tangled his messy hair.

"That was good, Cas," Dean whispered reverently. "That was so good."

 _That was the best sex I've ever had._ Castiel wanted to say it. He wanted Dean to know how special this had been for him, how much it meant, but he couldn't force the words out. All he could manage was, "Thank you, Dean."

They lay together for a long time as the cool air of the room dried the sweat from their skin, as they each softened. Castiel's limp cock felt gross in the sodden condom but he couldn't bring himself to move and do something about it; Dean pet him and murmured praises. Castiel wanted to soak the moment up, savor it, store every detail in his memory so that the next time he felt inadequate, unworthy, dirty, or wrong, he'd be able to remember this embrace and take heart and confidence and strength and courage from Dean's affection.

After a long time, far too soon, Dean stirred beneath him. "Come on, lemme clean us up and then we should get some sleep."

"You don't have to do that," Castiel objected. "I can clean myself up."

Dean shook his head emphatically. "Fuck no, Cas. I finally have a chance to take care of you and fuck all if I'm gonna pass that up. You lay your ass down – lemme get that disgusting condom off you – and I'll grab us some towels and some water and shit."

Quelling the objections that rose to his lips, Castiel was surprisingly content to watch Dean putter around the room, disappear to the bathroom and come back with towels, a damp wash cloth and a couple cups. Setting them down, Dean hastily stripped, coloring under Castiel's appreciate look.

"I, uh, I really want to see you again," mumbled Dean as he wiped himself down hastily with a towel.

"As soon as I can, Dean," Castiel agreed. "I want that too. More than I can say. But I'll work on that, too, I'll work on saying what I mean, saying what I need. You don't always have to be the one to start these conversations. You don't always have to be the one who praises. You were…" Castiel turned away as Dean leaned over him and brought the washcloth, warm and damp, down to scrub the lube and come caught in Castiel's pubic hair. "That was fantastic. That was…I want to do that with you again. Again and again. Okay?"

"I'd like that, Cas." Dean stopped moving. Embarrassed by his declaration, Castiel glanced back to make sure everything was alright and caught Dean's shy smile, the happy glimmer in his dark eyes. "I'd like that a lot."

* * *

It was pitch dark in the room as Castiel lay awake in bed. Dean lay beside him, breathing slow and steady, an arm thrown lazily across Castiel's chest, legs intertwined, soft cock nudging at Castiel's hip. For once, Castiel couldn't sleep for good reasons. He was _happy_. The things that unnerved him lingered in the background: Alastair and Naomi and Adler, Castiel's travels, the physical and emotional distance lingering between him and Dean, his therapy appointments and his anxiety. However, in that moment none of those things mattered, not in comparison to what they had together. After all of Castiel's worries, all his self-sabotage and obfuscation, they were together. Dean cared for him. Dean wanted him. Dean thought he mattered, didn't see him as an object, didn't see him as a possession. Dean wasn't Naomi, and Castiel _believed_ that, really and truly, and knowing it felt good.

For the first time since they'd met in June, Castiel wasn't afraid of Dean.

Carefully disentangling one arm, Castiel groped in the darkness until he found his cell phone. Unplugging it awkwardly with one hand, he turned it on, navigated to his calendar, checked his schedule, and then went to Chrome.

 _One way flights from Seoul to Kansas City_ , he typed in the search window. When prompted to enter the date for travel, he entered _December 24_ _th_.

Holidays were hard for Dean, and Castiel would be there for him as Dean had been there for Castiel over and over again.

Together, they could work to be overcome the difficult experiences that had worn them raw. Together, they could work to be healthy and happy. Together, they could be better than they ever had been alone.

Castiel really, truly believed that. He was happy, he was at peace, and the future looked bright.

 _I don't love him yet, but I will, I think. Very soon, I will._

Hitting "confirm," Castiel booked the flight. He didn't _have_ to work over Christmas. He didn't have to devote every hour to his job. He didn't have to wait until February to see Dean again. He wanted this relationship and he was allowed to have it.

A pleased, content smile gracing Castiel's lips, he set the phone aside, snuggled closer to Dean, and fell into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

ENDNOTE

...and DONE.

I hope you've enjoyed this story. Obviously, there are still some loose ends. There will be one more installment in this 'verse. It'll be called "Offline" and I expect the first chapter to come out in about a week; I'm going to take a short break for a couple days and writing something else just to reset my brain a little. If you're on AO3, subscribe to me as a writer OR to this SERIES cause it'll be it's own story; on FF dot net, if you favorite me you'll get a notification when it comes out (but you won't if you are following this story).

As always, for updates and such follow me on tumblr, unforth-ninawaters dot tumblr dot com.

Thanks for reading, everyone!


End file.
